For Want of a Quill
by veytta
Summary: First Year AU. Alternate Sorting. Ron finds a different compartment to sit in, Harry travels alone to Hogwarts and that small change changes the world in ways big and small. No pairings!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

In the absent way that one does when panicking, Ron Weasley wondered if everyone else on the train was as nervous as he was. He had been excited the night before – too excited to sleep in fact, and too preoccupied imagining Hogwarts and the things he would achieve once he was there. Now that he was on the train, he felt distinctly queasy and uncertain.

Every compartment he had passed so far was full, which he thought was kind of amazing, really. Ron had grown up with five older brothers and a little sister, but he hadn't really met many other wizarding kids, aside from Luna Lovegood, and she'd stopped coming to play with Ginny two years ago. The number of wizards in England was rather small to begin with and there weren't many real communities like Hogsmeade anymore, so to see so many wizarding kids in one place was a little daunting.

He peered into yet another compartment, shifting his grip on the heavy school trunk that trundled along behind him like an old dog, and slumped. The compartment looked quite full, and was occupied by a dark-skinned boy in Muggle clothes, a giggling blonde girl, and a skinny, sandy-haired boy. With a sigh, Ron moved on, half disappointed and half relieved. It was starting to look like he'd have to beg Fred and George (or even worse, Percy) to share their compartment – but to tell the truth, he was a little scared to talk to anyone he didn't know.

What if he made an idiot of himself and no-one wanted to be friends with him?

What if they laughed at his frayed hand-me-down robes and battered trunk?

What if—

"Oi, you there, you got a quill?" asked an Irish-accented voice.

Ron turned, startled, and found that the sandy-haired boy was leaning out the compartment door, looking at him intently.

"Erm… yeah, in my trunk, I think."

"Brilliant! Mind if we borrow it? This bloke says he hasn't a _clue_ what Quidditch is and we can't have that," the boy said, in tones of disgust. "Soon have him educated, eh?"

Ron returned the grin, if a little more hesitantly than the boy gave it, and dragged his trunk back to the compartment with a burgeoning warmth in his chest. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad after all.

"You can sit with us if you like, mate. Oh, name's Seamus, by the way. Seamus Finnigan, and this is – what did you say your name was again?"

"Dean Thomas," the black boy replied, sounding slightly affronted. "An' how was I supposed to know about Quidditch, eh? I'm – what d'you lot call it? Muggleborn? Aren't I!"

"I'm Lavender," the girl piped up as the boys began to bicker amiably. "Would you like a hand getting that trunk in here?"

"I'll be right, thanks," Ron replied, feeling a bit embarrassed at the girl's offer.

He wrestled the trunk through the door with some difficulty – it had a tendency to veer off to the right if not handled firmly, courtesy of a wonky wheel – and found Seamus the quill he had asked for after only a bit of rummaging. The Irish boy thanked him, and then proceeded to help him lift the heavy trunk onto an overhead rack, where three other trunks and an empty owl cage were already stored.

"Now," Seamus said in a serious, lecturing tone once they were all seated once again. "In Quidditch there are fourteen players and five balls on the field…"

* * *

><p>Harry Potter was sitting alone when the Hogwarts Express pulled away from Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and he was alone when Fred and George Weasley dropped by to say hello before leaving to investigate claims of a tarantula further up the train. He was also quite bored, as the novelty of watching the scenery outside drift past, green hillsides and fields of parched, gold grass blurring into one another like oil paints had quickly worn off.<p>

An hour into the trip, he was morosely wishing that he had not stored his trunk overhead, because at least then he might have been able to read one of the more interesting textbooks, like _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ or _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_, which, he had noticed when perusing it during the summer, had some rather interesting moving pictures of apples turning into bubbles, and even one of a man turning into an owl. He considered trying to pull the trunk down off the rack, but decided that he didn't want to risk dropping it on his foot or any other part of himself, as he was likely to do.

At about half-past twelve, as Harry was absently watching the countryside beyond melt from a patchwork of farmland into the endless sweeps of wild grasses and pockets of trees, the compartment door slid open for a second time. He blinked, a little surprised by how sleepy the gentle silence and rocking motion of the train had made him, and turned his head towards the intruder. It was an older, smiling witch who wore a sensible, if slightly garish, scarlet uniform and pushed a trolley of assorted treats before her. Her eyes swept over the compartment, her face softening into lines of pity as she realised he was sitting alone.

"Anything from the trolley, dear?" she asked kindly.

Despite the gnawing hunger in his stomach, his automatic response was, _no, thank you_. He was too used to years of not having pocket money of his own to spend and being denied even the smallest of sweet treats Dudley got on a daily basis, but he shifted forward in spite of himself, curious about the brightly coloured wrappers, and felt the coins he had taken from Gringotts jingle in his pocket.

_It's different now_, he reminded himself, crossing the compartment to get a closer look at the selection of things.

Harry looked over the assortment of things and found nothing he recognised – or at least nothing that would be found in a Muggle store. There was bubble-gum, but it was called Droobles Best Blowing Gum and claimed that the bubbles it produced would last for days. There was chocolate in the form of chocolate frogs, which seemed ordinary enough at first, but the boxes rattled as though they contained something living and Harry had a queasy feeling that they might be _real_ frogs. As far as he could tell, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans were the wizarding equivalent of jellybeans, but there was something ominous about the words 'Every Flavour' that made him hesitant to try them.

Something of his wonder must have shown on his face, because the trolley witch gave him a knowing smile and said, "Muggleborn, love? Don't worry, nothing on this trolley will bite – though I'd be careful before you eat anything your Housemates give you; wizard kids do love to trick the Muggleborns if they can. How about some Pumpkin Pasties for a morning tea, and some chocolate frogs for after? Everyone loves chocolate frogs – I usually run out before I'm done."

Harry, who was worrying about the way she said 'this trolley' and just what kind of sweet might _bite_, managed to thank her and purchase not only several Pumpkin Pasties, but Cauldron Cakes, a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, a handful of chocolate frogs and a chilled bottle of what the witch told him was pumpkin juice.

As he made his way steadily through the rather large pile of sweets and snacks, Harry wondered where the red-headed boy – Ron? – from the platform had ended up, and whether the pale boy from Madam Malkin's was on the train. Harry supposed he had to be, if he was going to Hogwarts this year too. Thinking of Hogwarts filled him with mingled excitement and apprehension. His experiences with school so far had not been altogether pleasant, and though the wizarding world had treated him bizarrely well so far, he was nervous about what would happen once he was surrounded with children his own age.

What if they didn't do anything but goggle at him, like the people in Diagon Alley and the students who walked past his compartment, who tended to double back to walk past again if they were polite, or stop and stare openly if they weren't? Would he be able to make friends? Or would he be alone again, too different to make any friends?

He shook his head, dispelling the worries as best he could, and instead focused on opening his first chocolate frog, which he had left until the end (the Every Flavour Beans had, indeed, been every flavour, and he had unwittingly eaten some really strange and unpleasant flavours, like soap, paint, paper, vomit, orange peel and what tasted like burned cheese). The trick to eating chocolate frogs, Harry learned quite quickly, was to bite the heads or legs off before they could squirm out of your hands. The chocolate was rich and smooth and delicious, and far too soon he was licking the last morsels off his fingers, feeling bereft.

The real treasure of chocolate frogs, though, was the cards that came with them. Harry was fascinated by the photographs which, like the pictures in his textbooks, moved!

They smiled and even waved at him, and once, when he turned over Circe's card, the snooty-looking witch glared at him and walked right out of the photo (though he had caught her peeking around the edge of the frame not too long afterwards)!

Harry was watching Gwenog Jones, who was apparently the star Chaser on a Quidditch team called the Holyhead Harpies (whatever that meant), zoom around on a broomstick when there was a knock at the compartment door and the round-faced boy he had noticed on the platform appeared.

"Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?" he asked, looking quite tearful. "I've lost mine."

"No, sorry," Harry said sympathetically, and when the boy looked as though he might burst into tears, added, "Would you like some help looking?"

The boy gave him a strained, grateful smile, and nodded. Harry stuffed his remaining chocolate frogs in his pockets, having learned from living with Dudley not to leave anything sweet unattended, and joined him in the corridor.

"I'm Neville," the boy said as they began to walk. Harry moved unsteadily, thrown by the rocking motion of the train. "I don't know how he keeps disappearing! I've searched this entire carriage now but no-one's seen him."

"I'm Harry – and don't worry, I'm sure you'll find him," Harry said, digging through his pockets and hoping his tone sounded reassuring, for Neville's voice was rising into a distraught wail with every passing word. "Would you like a chocolate frog?"

Neville accepted the sweet with a sniffle and a quiet 'thank you', and knocked on the next compartment door.

None of the four inside, one of whom was the red-headed boy Harry had seen on the platform, had seen Neville's toad, and so he and Harry continued up the train. The next few compartments yielded similar results, and none of their occupants offered to help, too engrossed in their conversations or a strange game that seemed exactly like Muggle Snap until the cards exploded and covered all the players in soot. Harry couldn't help but be jealous of the camaraderie and laughter he saw as he passed – why was he always alone? It wasn't fair… but perhaps he and Neville could be friends.

It was only a few compartments later that they were joined by someone else – a girl this time, who apparently already knew of Neville's plight, for the first thing she asked was:

"Have you had any luck yet, Neville?" Followed rather quickly by, "Who is this?"

"I'm Harry," Harry replied, and Neville only shook his head miserably.

The girl was dressed in her school robes, though most of the students Harry had seen so far were still in Muggle clothes or more informal robes he supposed must be wizarding casual wear. She had a rather snooty air about her, but Harry thought she seemed nice enough – if a little bossy. Maybe he could be friends with her, too.

"I'm Hermione Granger. You're not Harry _Potter_, are you?" she asked, her eyes flicking up to his forehead. "My goodness, you are! I've read all about you, you know. You're in _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and—."

"You're _Harry Potter_?" Neville squeaked, his eyes becoming very round and, like Hermione's, flicking up to check his forehead. "_Really_?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably and nodded, feeling a nameless barrier slide into place between him and the other two. He had only vaguely noticed it before, with other people who learned his name, but now it was almost a tangible thing. There was a distance that grew in the space of four syllables and isolated him from everyone.

"Well," Hermione said briskly, her eyes bright with excitement. "That's grand! Have you tried any spells yet? I expect you pick it up very fast, being who you are, don't you? I've only tried some simple ones, and they've all worked for me."

"Er," Harry started awkwardly, wondering if he ought to have by now. "No, I haven't."

Hermione shot him a disbelieving look.

"My relatives don't much like magic," he added quickly, face growing hot.

"Why on earth not?"

"I dunno, really," Harry lied, hearing Uncle Vernon's hissed, _No more freakishness from you, boy, or you'll be locked in that cupboard of yours for a month! _

"Oh, well… what House do you suppose you'll be in, then? I'll probably be a Ravenclaw, but Gryffindor sounds by far the best. I wonder how we're Sorted. _Hogwarts: A History_ didn't say much about the Sorting… I suppose it's tradition to be surprised. Do you think they'll take into account where we _want_ to go?"

"Er…"

But Harry was saved from answering, for they had come to another compartment and Neville had knocked on the door.

"Sorry, but have you seen a toad?" he asked, when the occupants looked up expectantly.

The four girls inside – a pair of twins with skin the colour of cinnamon, a round-faced girl with an unfortunately up-turned nose and a serene looking girl with dark hair – shook their heads, each looking apologetic, except for the round-faced girl, who seemed to be controlling a derisive sneer.

"Oh, well, thanks anyway."

They continued up the train, scouring the corridors and knocking on compartment doors. There was no sign of Trevor, and Neville's dejection was growing with each negative answer. Harry found himself becoming more miserable with each happy compartment they passed and ever more irritated with every goggling student that passed them, ostensibly to use the bathroom or visit a friend's compartment.

_Just one person who doesn't gape at me_, he wished fervently. _Just one friend. I can be a good friend – I know I can._

* * *

><p>After several more unsuccessful inquiries, Hermione had suggested splitting up again, as they could cover more ground that way. She and Neville had left Harry to continue making his way up the train, while they went to the front of the train – Hermione would check with the driver when they were expected to arrive, and then catch up with Neville, who would start to work his way back towards Harry.<p>

Now alone, Harry steeled himself for wide-eyed stares and indiscrete whisperings and reluctantly tapped on the compartment door. He hoped he wouldn't be growled at by another disgruntled, rumpled fifth year like the last time he'd knocked on a door with the privacy flap down.

It took a long moment, but the door eventually rattled open. Harry was slightly startled to find himself looking at the pale boy from Madam Malkin's, who looked back with a lofty expression that said quite clearly: _Well, what took you so long?_

"You're Harry Potter," was the first thing the boy said, his pale eyes narrowing. "You didn't tell me you were Harry Potter."

"You didn't ask," Harry replied, coolly. "And you didn't tell me who you were, either."

"Draco Malfoy," he said, offering his hand like a lord to a lesser noble.

"Harry Potter."

With some difficulty, Harry swallowed the instinctive dislike prickling in his throat and took Malfoy's hand. Malfoy reminded him a little of Aunt Petunia, who always looked down her nose at Harry and thought herself superior to other people. The difference was that Malfoy did not have the ability to make Harry feel small and worthless the way his aunt did – instead, he made Harry feel_ annoyed_.

"I was wondering when you'd get here – I was going to come and introduce myself, until I heard you were going from compartment to compartment. Very Slytherin of you, Potter, networking like this. I expect you want to ally with me, then?"

_Ally?_ Harry wondered, frowning slightly. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd seen a toad. A boy called Neville's lost one."

For a moment, Malfoy seemed floored by the notion that Harry had not come in search of _him_, but he recovered quite admirably.

"I don't see why he'd bother looking for it," Malfoy sneered. "Imagine, actually taking a _toad_! I'd lose mine right quick or use it for potions ingredients if My Father sent me off to Hogwarts with a _toad_!"

This, he addressed to both Harry and the other occupants of the compartment – two thick-set boys with identically dull expressions, and a stringy boy whose face reminded Harry a bit of a rabbit. After a moment of confusion, the two heavier boys seemed to realise they were expected to laugh, and jeered obediently. The stringy boy snorted once, softly, and was quiet again, instead watching Harry with a kind of calculating look that made him uneasy.

Harry did not laugh, and Malfoy's face creased into a faint expression of disappointment. For a moment, the arrogant blond looked lost, and hurt. Harry felt a pang of sympathy as he realised that in some strange way, the other boy had been trying to – what? Make Harry laugh? Make friends? He couldn't help but wonder whether Malfoy had had any friends before, if he thought that insulting other people was a form of bonding.

"Why are you helping him anyway, Potter?"

"Because he needed help," Harry replied, quietly. "And it was the right thing to do."

Malfoy stared openly at him for several moments with an increasingly thoughtful look on his face. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but closed it again without a word. Harry shuffled his feet, fiddling unconsciously with the sleeve of his robe, and wondered what was going on behind Malfoy's expression – just what was he considering so carefully?

"I'd, erm, better get on," Harry said, when it became apparent no-one was going to speak. "There's still a lot of train to search."

Malfoy frowned, looking for a moment as though he might protest, but said, "See you at school, then, Potter."

"Yeah, see you around, Malfoy."

Harry nodded awkwardly to the other occupants of the compartment, who hadn't introduced themselves, and hurried down the corridor, trying to ignore the prickling sensation of Malfoy's intense stare following him.

When he reached the next compartment, he knocked without hesitating.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, so, hi! Welcome to <em>For Want of a Quill<em>, first in the Quillverse series. As you can see, this fic is an AU in which Ron didn't sit with Harry on the train, so they did not become friends, and Harry arrives at Hogwarts a little different for it. This fic is AU, but not wildly so - at least not yet. The changes start small and snowball into something bigger, but it is for the most part canon compliant. That said, some minor characters will become major characters, some deaths will be prevented or caused, etc, etc. **

**I have followed the plot of the books, but I have _embellished_ in places, so as to add some originality and keep it interesting, so it's not just like reading _Philosopher's Stone_ all over again :) **

**Also, for anyone worried about pairings: that won't become an issue until third and fourth year, but feel free to let me know your opinions/guesses :) I have a pretty good idea of where everyone's going to end up, but that could change if the story takes a different direction than I expected. For now, though, it's just friendship and maybe some harmless crushes - try to enjoy it!**

**Let me know what you think! Be gentle - it's been a while since I posted anything for public consumption and I'm a little out of practice writing :) It might start off a little slow, but things will pick up soon, I promise!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It was cool when Harry stepped off the train onto the Hogsmeade platform. It wasn't quite cold, but there was the definite chill of early autumn in the air and Harry shivered a little in the light breeze.

Hogsmeade station was quaintly pretty in the fading light of dusk, as all things in the Wizarding world seemed to be. Harry felt as though he'd stepped backwards in time, or perhaps into another world. There was no actual station, only an empty stretch of platform that curled away and out of sight at either end. On the right hand side, in the distance, Harry caught a glimpse of low, sloping roofs and old-fashioned cobblestone streets. The stone-paved platform was lined with lampposts that unfurled and twisted like small iron trees, bearing fat gas lamps like fruit.

He did not have long to admire it, though, for he was soon jostled aside by the flood of impatient students alighting to the platform. He saw Neville stumble slightly as he stepped across the gap between train and platform, though Hermione caught his elbow and prevented him from falling completely. She must have rebuked him, because Neville blushed and looked at his feet as the pair hurried over to join Harry.

"How do you suppose we'll get to the school?" Hermione asked in a breathless whisper, her eyes bright with excitement as she drank in their surroundings.

Harry shrugged, and a glance at Neville informed him that the other boy was just as clueless as he – though that could have been residual misery from their astounding lack of success in finding Trevor. Before Hermione could open her mouth and speculate, however, a loud, familiar voice boomed above the rowdy noise of the students.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over this way!"

Hagrid was alternately cupping his free hand to his mouth, though he hardly needed help projecting his booming voice, and using it to wave the gaggle of nervous first years towards him through the crush of students. In his other hand, he held an enormous lantern. It emitted a warm amber light with a flickering quality which made Harry think it might have been candlelight. Harry couldn't help but notice that the other first years were milling a wary distance from Hagrid, presumably intimidated by his size.

Harry had no such compunctions, and found himself – and Hermione and Neville, who were sticking close to him – at the front of the group, and soon on the receiving end of Hagrid's beaming smile. Neville was staring at Hagrid with wide, almost scared eyes, and Hermione with a kind of fascination. In fact, most of the first years seemed to be regarding him with one or the other (or a mixture of both, like Draco Malfoy). Harry merely grinned back, and was rewarded with a wink.

The number of students on the platform dwindled as the upper years dispersed, chattering, towards the far left of the platform. They disappeared around the bend, and their voices grew fainter and fainter until the first years were standing in relative silence.

"That all o' yeh, then?" Hagrid asked, surveying the forty or so first years huddling before him. "Righ' then, follow me!"

They set off into the encroaching dark, but not in the same direction as the other students – nor, as Harry had thought they might, did they continue on into the village he had glimpsed earlier. Instead, they turned onto a winding dirt path that cut through the thick trees, worn flat and smooth by the feet of generations of witches and wizards. The thought that his parents had walked this same path, that other ancestors had too, sent a shiver down his spine and he thought, for a moment, that he could close his eyes and see the ghosts of them walking with him. He could almost taste a magic in the journey – something old that spoke of tradition and brought a hush over them all.

"All right, Harry?" Hagrid asked in a low, rumbling voice once they had been walking a short while.

Harry nodded wordlessly, unable to speak, and Hagrid gave him another smile before turning back to face the path.

"You know him?" Hermione asked him quietly, the back of her hand brushing his with each step.

"Yeah, he delivered my letter, and took me to Diagon Alley," Harry replied at the same volume.

"Why did _he_ deliver your letter? Mine arrived by owl…"

Harry chose not to answer and felt a brief pang of guilt at Hermione's affronted expression – but, he reminded himself firmly, it was really none of her business.

He stumbled, and turned his attention back to the path lest he trip over another protruding root. It wasn't yet dark, but the trees surrounded them and interlocked their branches overhead in a natural walkway, blocking out much of the fading light. It made walking treacherous and he felt profoundly grateful for Hagrid's lantern as he heard someone towards the rear of the group trip and swear loudly.

There was a difference in the way the students walked, he noticed. Some, like him, were taking extra care not to trip over their robes, and walked awkwardly for it (of this type, it seemed, there were fewer girls than boys). Others, like Malfoy and Ron Weasley – he was certain of the name now – walked without apparent thought for how to move in their robes. He supposed that these were the wizard-raised kids, but he noticed Hermione seemed rather at ease in her robes too. After a moment of thought, he decided that Hermione had probably practiced walking in them before coming to Hogwarts. It seemed the kind of thing she would do.

After a time, when everyone was starting to breathe more heavily, Harry felt the path begin to grow steeper and the trees began to thin until the path opened onto the shore of an enormous, dark lake. A few of the girls, including Hermione, gasped, and Harry himself was quite awed by the sight. The setting sun was only the smallest suggestion of light on the dark horizon now, but that sliver of light glinted and shimmered off the lake like someone had set stars into the water. In the distance, Harry could see a mountain range silhouetted against the sunset-pink of the sky, their peaks stretching towards the bloody underside of the clouds above.

It was not the lake, however, that drew a gasp from Harry. It was the castle: Hogwarts. Even without Hagrid's belated comment, Harry knew that this must be Hogwarts castle. It stood on the far side of the lake, nestled into the mountainside as though it had grown out of it (and perhaps it had, Harry thought). Turrets and towers pierced the sky, lit from within and dotted with windows through which the brilliant light winked like the warm smile of a Halloween pumpkin. It seemed like something out of a fairytale, so beautiful it made his heart ache. A smile bloomed on his face, and he felt a renewed hope that this time, it would be different. Surely in such a fairytale place, there were such things as fairytale endings.

"In with yeh, then," Hagrid called, interrupting the amazed silence.

For a moment, Harry was bewildered – into the lake? Were they expected to swim to the castle? – but then he saw what he had overlooked in the shock of seeing Hogwarts for the first time. Bobbing in a cluster near the shore, just a few metres away, was a fleet of wooden boats adorned with small, unlit lanterns. They seemed to be tethered invisibly, for they did not drift away but were not anchored. Slightly off to the side was a much larger boat that could only be meant for Hagrid.

When he was seated in it, however, it looked ludicrously small and Harry was faintly concerned that it would sink or tip over. It seemed to support the giant man's weight without any difficulty, though. Magic, he thought with relish, was an amazing thing.

"No more'n four to a boat," Hagrid added, as they scrambled into their own, smaller boats and nearly upended them with their clumsiness.

Harry gave Hermione a steady shoulder to lean on as she stepped warily into the boat, and then did the same for Neville, who nearly fell in anyway. It was a near thing, but Hermione grabbed the shoulders of his robes and pulled him into the boat, which rocked ominously and almost splashed water on Harry's shoes. Once righted, Neville shot Harry an apologetic look and helped him into the boat too. Looking around, Harry noticed Malfoy seated with Nott and a girl he identified, after a long moment of straining his eyes to see through the incipient darkness, as the sneering girl from the train.

"Everyone in?"

There was a general affirmative, and without any apparent instruction, the boats set off across the lake, eliciting surprised shrieks from a few of the girls and a huff from Hermione, who seemed annoyed by their behaviour. Harry smothered a smile.

The journey across the lake was oddly peaceful; darkness had truly descended by then, and the little lanterns on the prows of their boats had lit themselves. Nobody spoke as they glided nearer and nearer the castle, at least not loud enough for Harry to hear. This time, though, it was not awe or reverence that kept them quiet – it was mounting tension and worry. Hermione and Neville looked as pale as Harry felt, their eyes dark and shining in the limited light of their lantern. He could see his own questions reflected in their faces – how would they be sorted? Where would he end up? What if he messed up in front of everyone?

Once or twice, Harry thought he might have seen something moving in the depths of the lake, but tried not to dwell on it too much. The thought of being pulled into the water by some kind of monster made him feel twitchy and ill, for he could not swim. He comforted himself with the knowledge that all first years made this journey across the lake and had done for Hermione-surely-knew how many years – if it was dangerous they wouldn't be doing it, right?

As they got closer to the castle, Harry realised that it was perched on a cliff overlooking the lake, and briefly wondered how they would get inside from down below. His question was answered even as he thought it, for Hagrid cried, "Heads down!", from the front of the procession and they all ducked as the boats glided through a curtain of ivy and arrived in a tunnel. Inside, it was much colder and everything echoed eerily, even their breathing and the lap of water against the boats. When he cast a furtive look at the ceiling, he noticed it was quite low – or at least the protruding spears of rock (stalactites, he remembered from school) made it seem so. After that, he kept his head down as they travelled along the long, dark tunnel.

It widened, eventually, into a kind of circular cave and the water became increasingly shallow until the bottom of the boats struck the shore. Hagrid, who had already clambered from his boat, beckoned them to do the same. Harry, then Hermione, and finally Neville piled out of the boat and onto the shore, feeling a bit disoriented at being on solid ground once more. Pebbles and bits of rock crunched under Harry's shoes as he followed his year-mates away from the water.

Hagrid swept his lantern over the boats, peering into them to check that no-one had left anything behind or been left behind themselves, and stooped to pick something up from one of them.

"Oy, has one o' yeh lost a toad?"

"Trevor!" Neville cried, and took several stumbling steps towards Hagrid to receive the squirming amphibian.

With Trevor returned, Neville seemed almost blissfully happy as Hagrid led the flock of first years up along a stone staircase, although there was the pinch of anxiety about his round features and Harry knew that he had not forgotten what lay ahead. None of them had; Hermione was muttering to herself under her breath and he could see that Ron Weasley was chalk-white. Even Draco Malfoy seemed less than composed – Harry saw his hands trembling as he smoothed out his crumpled robes.

They emerged into the shadow of the castle, and Harry was again awed by the sheer size of the thing. Even Hagrid was dwarfed by it. It loomed into the sky, the top-most turrets invisible in the darkness, and sprawled out in every direction with a kind of majestic grace that took Harry's breath anew. As they scuttled across the grass, following the light of Hagrid's lantern, Harry was struck by the irrational fear that the castle would teeter and fall down on them, but he had little time to entertain the thought, for Hagrid had raised his free hand and given three booming knocks on the double front doors.

* * *

><p>The stern looking witch who admitted them to the castle – Professor McGonagall, Hagrid had called her – led them through an entrance hall so vast that Harry thought it could have been used to play football or host a large party without wanting for room. It seemed even larger, he was sure, because the flaming torches which lined the stone walls did not shed enough light to illuminate the high ceiling, and gave the impression that the walls simply vanished upwards into inky blackness.<p>

They did not linger in the entrance hall, though even the few minutes they spent crossing it were enough to make Harry's stomach do nervous summersaults. The impressively large double doors that stood opposite the equally impressive sweeping marble staircase did not cut out the noise of the upper-year students entirely. Instead, they turned the conversations into a confused jumble of sounds that echoed around the entrance hall.

For a horrified moment, Harry thought they would be sent through those doors, into the curious stares of the entire school – but to his relief, they were shepherded through a smaller door hidden off to the side, and into another chamber lit with torches. This room was much smaller, with a lower roof, and it cut off all sound from outside. The silence that fell was broken only by the shuffling and sniffling of the other first years, and it was almost as unnerving as the noise from before. Tension was thick in the air.

Were they going to be sorted here, then? Away from the other students? That would be much better, Harry thought, that way there were less people to laugh if he messed up, less people to embarrass himself in front of. He looked around the room for some hint as to how they might be sorted, and found the other students doing the same. There was nothing to be seen, only the torches and a kind of stone support for the ceiling.

Suddenly, Professor McGonagall began to speak.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she began in a brisk, no-nonsense tone that didn't make Harry feel very welcome at all. "As I'm sure you all know, you will soon be sorted into your houses. For anyone not aware, the four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each of these houses has its own merits and you would do well to remember that none of them is better than any other, whatever you may have heard before arriving.

"You will be sorted in front of the rest of the school –" At this, there was a rush of whispers and frightened squeaks, though they were soon quieted by a reproving look from McGonagall. " – and then take your place at whichever house table becomes yours. I am sure you will be able to tell which that is, by the enthusiastic greeting you will receive." This she said with a trace of wry amusement, and Harry was certain he saw the stern expression on her face soften for a moment. "I would hope that you do not make them regret extending such a warm welcome, for while you are here at Hogwarts your house will become your family and your actions, positive _and_ negative, will reflect upon it. You will attend classes with those in your year and house, eat meals with them, sleep in your house dormitory, spend time in your house common room, and, one would hope, earn house points for your house.

"At Hogwarts, house points are awarded for dedication to your school work, and to acknowledge your successes in their various forms. However, if you are caught breaking the rules, points will be removed from your house. If this is not enough to dissuade you from doing so, I am certain your housemates' displeasure will be enough incentive.

"At the end of the year, the house with the most house points will be awarded the house cup – a great honour and a mark of achievement for your house. Whichever house becomes yours, you will endeavour to become an asset and a credit to it, not a burden."

Here, she paused a moment, casting a critical eye over them all. "I shall return when we are ready for you. In the meantime, I would suggest you smarten up a little."

With that, she left the way they had come, and left the increasingly anxious first years alone. Almost immediately, whispered conversations broke out.

"In front of the _entire school_ –?"

"How do you suppose we'll be sorted?"

"Oh, what if I don't get into Ravenclaw? Mum will be heartbroken–"

"–brothers said it hurts a lot, but I think they were lying, because they said something about fighting a troll too–"

"Never mind not being a Ravenclaw, what if I wind up in _Slytherin_?"

"A _troll_? They wouldn't really make us fight a _troll_ would they?"

Harry echoed this question to Hermione, noting that her hair seemed even bushier than before – as though she were a cat, puffed up with fear. The thought almost made him break into hysterical giggles, but he managed not to. Thinking about what he would be facing in a few minutes was very sobering.

"No, I expect it will be a test of some sort – ask us to perform some of the magic we know, or identify Goshawk's Theories of Fundamental Magic – yes, that seems the thing. Oh, I _do_ hope I can remember everything…"

Harry, who had no idea who Goshawk was, or what his or her Theories might have been, left Hermione to her muttered recitation with a powerful sense of impending doom. He really ought to have studied more before arriving. If he made it through the sorting, he vowed, he would never put off studying again.

He spotted the sneering girl, whose expression was now more simpering, attempting to smooth Malfoy's hair into place – much to his annoyance, it seemed, for he immediately swatted her hands away and scowled. Half-heartedly, Harry attempted to flatten his own hair, but to no avail, and rearranged his robes where they had become crumpled by the long journey. Neville was doing the same, having straightened his wayward cloak, and looked as though he might be sick. When he saw Harry looking, he offered a weak smile that soon turned into a shocked gasp.

Harry couldn't blame him. He himself let out a strangled yell, and a handful of people – amusingly, not just girls – screamed loudly. Streaming through the wall behind them, the one bearing the door, were at least two dozen silvery ghosts. They had to be ghosts, though they looked nothing like the ghosts in Dudley's cartoons. Rather than featureless creatures that resembled bed-sheets, each ghost looked different from the next. One was a sniffy looking man dressed in a ruff and tights; another, a sorrowful woman whose pearly white face seemed tearstained, and yet another was a short, portly-looking man with a funny hat. They looked like glass models of people, only animated and talking rather loudly.

"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him another chance –" The fat ghost was saying.

"Another chance? My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name, you know, and he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"

Unable to speak, everyone stared mutely.

"They'll be the new first years, Nick," the Friar said, sounding delighted. "About to be Sorted, are you?"

Harry was not one of the few who managed to nod in answer to this. There was some small part of his brain that was shrieking in denial – magic was one thing, ghosts were entirely another. Real, live – well, not _live_ – ghosts talking to them. It was surreal.

"Oh, oh, of course!"

"Yes, it is that time of year again, isn't it?"

"Welcome to Hogwarts!"

"More muggleborns again this year, looks like. Did you see their faces?"

"– looked ever so surprised! Makes me smile every time–"

"Well then, I hope to see you in Hufflepuff," the Friar said, smiling. "My old house, you know. Had a song in my day, we did: _When you're dressed in yellow and black, someone's always got your back/For no finer friends you'll find, than those of the Hufflepuff kind!_"

The Friar drifted off into thought, looking not a little wistful, and was only broken from his reverie by McGonagall's return.

"The Sorting is about to begin," she said, directing this at the ghosts. "House ghosts should already be in the hall."

"Oh, my apologies, Miss McGonagall," Nick said, looking sheepish, "Time does get away from us, sometimes. It's so easy to forget how time passes…"

Nick almost drifted into a thoughtful silence at that, but Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow in his direction, and the delegation of ghosts set off again, streaming out through the wall opposite the door. Harry shuddered as someone's foot floated through his shoulder, feeling sharp needles of cold stabbing into him at the point of contact.

"Come along, now, single-file. We're ready for you," Professor McGonagall said, now addressing the uncertain first years.

Obediently, they fell into line and trotted out of the room after her. Harry found himself ahead of Ron Weasley and behind Nott, with no idea where Hermione and Neville had ended up, but he had little time to wonder, for McGonagall threw the double doors wide and strode into the Great Hall.

Harry's first sight of the Great Hall momentarily drove all other concerns from his mind. For a dazed moment, he wondered what had happened to the roof, and why it had not been replaced – it appeared to have simply vanished, leaving the Hall open to the void of the sky. Stars glittered down at them from overhead, occasionally blocked out by the clouds which drifted sleepily in and out of sight.

The roof, or apparent lack thereof, was explained by Hermione's hissed whisper from somewhere in the line: "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_." He found, if he looked very closely, he could see the faintest suggestion of a roof beyond the illusion.

The room was lit mainly by the series of torches and roaring fireplaces which adorned all four walls. It was the hundreds upon hundreds of tiny candles that Harry found he liked best, though. They floated a few feet above the students' heads, forming little clots over the four dining tables that filled the hall, and cast a gentle light upon the diners – almost all of whom were staring curiously at the first years.

Harry felt his heart do a sick flop in his chest, and fixed his eyes ahead, thinking absurdly of the warning about heights – _don't look down_. Or in this case, don't look away from the staff table. The staff table was much like the other four tables in the hall, except that it was set on a raised dais and ran perpendicular to the rest. It was also much smaller and more elaborately furnished with candle holders, empty plates and goblets.

The teachers, too, were watching the first years, but there was something altogether less threatening about that – perhaps because they were far fewer than the students.

Harry only recognised two of the staff – Hagrid and Professor Quirrel, whom he had met in the Leaky Cauldron before visiting Diagon Alley – but he could guess at a third. The man who sat at the centre of the table, on a throne-like chair, could only be Professor Dumbledore. With his deeply lined face and snow-white hair and beard, he looked ancient, though his eyes – blue, Harry noted as he came nearer the table – were sharp and glittering with a quiet merriment that made Harry relax infinitesimally.

McGonagall had not taken her seat beside Dumbledore – the only empty one at the table – and was, instead, standing beside a three-legged stool with a scroll and an ancient looking hat that she handled as though it were a priceless jewel. She set it gently on the stool just as the last of the first years were filing onto the dais. They jostled each other, huddling rather closer than they needed to as if to protect themselves from the expectant stares by their number alone.

Except, Harry realised after a long moment of silence, the other students were not staring at the first years – they were staring at the hat. But why the hat? What was so important about–

Abruptly, the hat began to sing.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey guys! Welcome to the end of chapter two, which was originally the middle of chapter two, but when I hit 8k words I decided to break it into two shorter parts to keep the chapters about the same length. Hope you enjoyed! Any bets on Harry's Sorting? I've dropped plenty of hints in the last two chapters ;)<strong>

**Also, I feel I should clarify_ re:Pairings_: Sorry to anyone who was hoping for some major slash pairings! All pairings involving Harry and his friends will be het. This isn't because I dislike slash or femmeslash! There are going to be some minor slash/femmeslash pairings, or at least hints of them, later on in Quillverse, and I have other stories (unrelated to Quillverse, and some not Harry Potter at all) planned with major slash/femmeslash pairings. It's just that, in this case, the pairings will be het. Sorry for anyone disappointed! Try not to let it spoil the reading for you :) There should be enough great friendship moments between everyone to satisfy!**

**Thank you so, so much to everyone who favourited/alerted the story (or me!), and especially thank you to everyone who reviewed! A few of your reviewed anonymously, so I've had to put my replies here.**

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><p><strong>REVIEW REPLIES<br>**

**_Judas'Dahlia_: I love AUs too, and I have the same problem with plausibility. I find it frustrating when authors make huge changes with no explanation, although in some cases I can deal with it because the story is just that much fun to read, haha! Also, thank you so much for the compliment on characterisation! I always worry about characterisation _  
><strong>

**_Angie_: I... take it that's a compliment? I hope so, in any case! **

**_Alien Invasion_: Thank you :) Glad you enjoyed reading!**

**_Mitarose_: Haha, with regards to Sorting - you find out next chapter! Hope you don't mind where he ends up!  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**_  
><em>

_Oh you may not think I'm pretty,  
>But don't judge on what you see,<br>I'll eat myself if you can find  
>A smarter hat than me.<br>You can keep your bowlers black,  
>Your top hats sleek and tall,<br>For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
>And I can cap them all.<br>There's nothing hidden in your head  
>The Sorting Hat can't see,<br>So try me on and I will tell you  
>Where you ought to be. <em>

Harry felt some of his worries evaporate at that, and found himself grinning along with the other first years – all he had to do was try on the Hat! He felt faintly worried that he would not belong in any house at all, as he listened to the Hat name the qualities for which each house was known, but he figured they wouldn't just send him home, right? He didn't feel very brave, or cunning, or particularly quick-witted, but surely there was _something_ the Hat would be able to find in his mind. Right? He twisted a hank of his robes in his hands nervously as the school burst into scattered laughter and applause, feeling the anxiety return.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," McGonagall instructed, when the applause had died down enough for her to be heard. "Abbot, Hannah."

The slightly pink-faced, blonde Hannah, and the chubby, dark-haired girl who followed her, Susan Bones, summarily became Hufflepuffs, though the Hat seemed to take a little longer deciding with Susan. This seemed to happen as often as it didn't – some students, like Terry Boot, who followed Susan, and the girl who followed him, were quickly placed in Ravenclaw. Others, like Lavender Brown and Millicent Bulstrode, took several moments to be sorted into _GRYFFINDOR!_ and _SLYTHERIN!_, respectively. Seamus Finnegan took the longest yet – almost a whole minute – but was eventually sent to Gryffindor with Lavender, and before long it was Hermione's turn.

Harry fought back a grin as he saw her race to the hat and very nearly jam it on her head (McGonagall's lips pursed at the rough treatment of the Hat – or perhaps in amusement). Her sorting took nearly as long as Seamus', and by that time, the rest of the school seemed to be getting a little impatient. Harry crossed his fingers, not sure where she would be placed, but hoping it would be Gryffindor like she'd wanted.

He cheered silently along with the red-and-gold table when the hat cried out, "_GRYFFINDOR!_" and Hermione hurried to sit with her new housemates, flushed with happiness.

Several Sortings later, it was Neville's turn. He, like Hermione, rushed to the stool – but Harry thought this was more out of a desire to get the Sorting over with than any eagerness to see where he would be placed. Neville's Sorting took a while, but not quite so long as Hermione's – and he, too, became a Gryffindor. Harry winced as Neville rushed off with the Hat still on his head, and then had to return it amidst gales of laughter from the school, his expression mortified.

Malfoy's Sorting was the quickest yet. The Hat opened its mouth even as it was descending towards his head, but closed it, looking thoughtful – if a hat could look thoughtful – before crying out, "_SLYTHERIN!_" a few seconds later.

An agonising eternity later, and far too soon, it was Harry's turn. He was pale and shaking as he saw Professor McGonagall glance at him with a strange look, then open her mouth and call, "Potter, Harry."

Immediately, the whispers broke out. They leaped around the hall like shadows, and even if Harry hadn't caught snatches of the conversations that ensued, he would have been able to guess at the questions they asked based on the tone alone. They used the same excited, disbelieving tone that everyone had used upon meeting him, and several of the shorter students actually stood up to get a better look at him. Harry felt a humiliated blush rise in his cheeks, and hurried towards the Hat.

"Hmmm," the Hat began, without preamble, once it had been set on Harry's head. "Oh my, you're a difficult one, aren't you? Everyone's got a bit of everything, of course, but you…"

"Sorry," Harry thought, before he could stop himself.

"Oh, don't be. It's rare that I get such a challenge, you see, and it gets quite boring without them. But I digress.

"So much potential! A fine mind, definitely smart – though perhaps not quite Ravenclaw material… you don't crave knowledge, but you thirst… oh yes, there's such a thirst to prove yourself, and the courage and cunning to carry you to your goals. Slytherin and Gryffindor both would suit you…"

The Hat was silent for a moment, and Harry had the unnerving feeling of something brushing through his thoughts, shuffling through his memories like a secretary through a filing cabinet.

"Ah! I see it now." The Hat's voice took on a deeply saddened tone. "That desire for friendship, Mister Potter, it burns brighter than anything else in your mind or heart. You've been lonely a long time, haven't you?"

Harry was silent, trying not to think of all the wasted smiles; all the times someone had sent him a pitying look but been too scared of Dudley to invite him to play; all the times he'd been picked last for a game of football or been ignored altogether; all the times he'd read the words "_… nice enough boy… needs help coming out of his shell and making friends at school…_" on his report card; of all the happy, laughing kids on the train that didn't sit with _him_.

"You were more right than you know, when you thought you could be a good friend, Harry. The best friend – fair, loyal, patient and true. And I think you'll find the friends you need if I put you in – _HUFFLEPUFF!_"

Harry emerged from beneath the Hat to the deafening cheers of the entire Hufflepuff table. Shrieks and shouts filled the hall, more than making up for the silence of the other houses, who seemed to be in a state of shock that the house of "duffers", as Hagrid had called them, had claimed the Boy Who Lived. After a moment, though, the Gryffindor table began to whistle and cheer, and the Ravenclaw table broke into polite applause. The snickers of the Slytherin table were lost in the cacophony.

Harry couldn't help but grin as Professor McGonagall took the hat from him, though he was bewildered by the faint look of disappointment he caught on her face before she waved him towards his new housemates. He soon forgot about the look, though, as a fellow first year Hufflepuff boy – Justin, Harry thought his name might have been – was grinning at him and had made room between himself and an older boy for Harry to sit. The Friar gave a smile and a small wave from a few seats away.

"Hey," he said, a little breathlessly, as the Hufflepuffs called out greetings to him from all the way up the table.

"Welcome to Hufflepuff," replied about half a dozen people, all completely out of time with one another.

As the Sorting continued, Harry snuck a look at first the Gryffindor table, smiling as he saw Hermione and Neville sitting side by side, both grinning widely, and then about the room in general. Quite by accident, as he passed a look over the Slytherin table, he caught Draco Malfoy's eye and found, to his surprise, that the other boy was merely frowning at him – not sneering as many of his housemates were. Noticing Harry's attention, he gave a quick, almost hesitant nod, and turned his eyes back to the front, still with what Harry now recognised as a thoughtful frown on his face.

By the time Ron Weasley became a Gryffindor – his siblings almost managed to equal the volume of Harry's greeting all on their own – annoyed mutterings were breaking out across the hall as people complained about the length of the Sorting and the state of their stomachs. Harry was starting to grow impatient for the food himself by the time Blaise Zabini, the last to be Sorted, became a Slytherin. He still had the ridiculous, giddy grin plastered on his face, though.

The mutterings died quickly as Professor Dumbledore stood and spread his arms wide as if to embrace them all, though Harry could see that the disgruntled looks remained.

"Welcome! Welcome to Hogwarts," he said, beaming.

His voice was not at all what Harry had expected. Although it was soft and quite gentle, it was not hoarse or weak with age, like the war veteran who had come to his primary school to give a speech one time. There was no doubting that Dumbledore was a powerful wizard, even if he seemed quite harmless – it was there in the strength of his voice and the way he stood, completely at ease.

"I will not keep you from the feast long, as I'm sure you are all quite ravenous, but first I would like to say a few words – and here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

Harry laughed before he could stop himself, but he was not the only one – mixed laughter and applause broke out across the hall. Dumbledore merely smiled serenely at them all and sat down between Professor McGonagall and a tiny, wizened professor who Harry wouldn't have been surprised to find out was part dwarf.

It was then that Harry witnessed the best piece of magic he'd seen so far – just as he was opening his mouth to ask where the food was, it appeared before him. Plates and platters and bowls piled high with all manner of dinner foods. There was chicken, roasted, battered, or marinated, as well as sausages and steaks, honeyed and roasted pork, and lamb seasoned with spices that made Harry's mouth water. There were tureens of delicious-smelling stew, plates laden with pumpkin and potatoes in three varieties – mashed, boiled and baked – bowls filled with peas and carrots, ceramic serving jugs full of gravy and mint sauce, and glass ones with a variety of juices, including pumpkin, which seemed to be a wizarding favourite.

There was general chaos as everyone began to pile their plate with food, and Harry thought that there was nothing quite like a feast at Hogwarts. It wasn't just the mouth-watering food (although he piled his plate high with a bit of everything); it was the way everyone behaved. There was good-natured jostling and squabbling when two people reached for the same thing, and some of the older students even levitated bowls right out of each others' hands, leading to cries of outrage from the wronged party and not a little spilling of gravy as war broke out over possession of a serving jug.

Blissfully, Harry dug into his chicken, content to listen as conversations started up around him. He was soon drawn into one of his own, however, as the students seated around him began introducing themselves.

"Ernie MacMillan," said a boy across the table and a seat down, standing and leaning across the table to shake Harry's hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Er, likewise," Harry replied, fighting the urge to smooth his fringe down as Ernie flicked a curious look towards his scar.

At this, the dozen or so students sitting near enough to hear started offering their hands and names, obviously emboldened by Ernie's success – "Wayne Hopkins. Nice to meet you." – "I'm Megan Jones." – "Hannah Abbot." – "Justin Finch-Fletchly." – and on it went, until Harry was sure he'd never remember all their names. Each one of them peeked at his scar, some more discretely than others, and he found himself becoming increasingly uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

After peering at him curiously for a while, everyone started going back to their conversations. It was only then that the girl opposite him, who Harry had noticed watching the volley of introductions quite closely, spoke up.

"Susan Bones," she said, offering her hand with a half-smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Harry Potter," he replied automatically, taking her hand, and immediately felt stupid.

Susan just grinned at him and took another bite of her dinner, her eyes returning to her plate as she did so. Harry felt himself relax inexplicably, and for a moment couldn't understand why. It occurred to him, suddenly, that it was because she hadn't once looked at his scar. Gratified, Harry cast desperately about for a topic of conversation, for she seemed to be leaving it up to him whether to initiate one or not.

"What's Quidditch?" Harry blurted the first thing that came to mind, before Hannah Abbot could draw Susan into conversation.

"Silly game," Susan replied in a mild tone, her eyes glittering as they darted towards Harry's neighbour. "Played on broomsticks with iron balls the size of your head that try to knock you out of the sky."

"You have just no appreciation for the sport, cousin," the upper-year boy to Harry's direct left said loftily.

"No, I just have no _understanding_ of how you can enjoy flitting around sixty feet off the ground with Bludgers beating you black and blue," Susan shot back, the suggestion of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

Harry got the impression she enjoyed riling her cousin, whose name Harry now remembered as Zacharias Smith. He definitely made it easy. At Susan's thinly veiled taunt, Smith bristled like an offended cat and scowled.

"She's not wrong."

This comment came from a few seats up, where an older boy – perhaps a third or fourth year – was grinning at Smith's expression. There was a kind of bashful, casual handsomeness to his features and grey eyes, and Harry noticed a few of the girls in the immediate vicinity giving him moony-eyed stares.

"I'm Cedric, by the way," the boy added, answering Harry's unasked question. "I play Seeker on the Hufflepuff house team."

"You lot actually play sport on brooms?" asked Justin, wide-eyed with wonder and not a little shock. "Brooms that _fly_?"

"Seeker?" Harry asked, at almost the same time.

Cedric's grin became wider as Megan Jones turned towards him, curious, and he began to explain Quidditch to them and anyone else who cared to listen.

* * *

><p>Harry was sleepy and distracted on the walk down to the Hufflepuff dorms, but not so distracted that he didn't take note of things as they walked. If he'd needed a reminder that Hogwarts was a school of magic, the paintings on the wall would certainly have provided it. He nearly jumped out of his skin the first time one of them called out a greeting, and he spent most of the journey staring, fascinated, at the portraits and scenes they passed. Some smiled and waved at him, others called out greetings or watched him with equal curiosity – one or two even followed their group for several frames to carry on a conversation with one of the two prefects leading them.<p>

Despite the attention he paid his surroundings, however, he couldn't get his mind off the warning Professor Dumbledore had issued at the end of the feast. There had been ordinary enough warnings about the Forbidden Forest and the use of magic in the halls (and a few that were rather strange, like the reminder about the Charms classroom being in a different place on alternate Mondays), but one in particular had struck Harry as strange even for a magical school. He wasn't the only one who found Professor Dumbledore's grave warning about the third floor corridor being out of bounds "unless they wished to die a most painful death" odd – whispers had broken out even as Dumbledore bid them goodnight and dismissed them. The older students had been just as confused as the younger ones, and not a little concerned at Professor Dumbledore's secrecy about the whole thing. Apparently he usually gave an explanation, or the reason was implicit – but this time no reason had been given. That he had not was stirring up rumours in the student body.

"Gather 'round, firsties," called the tall, slender female prefect as the group drew to a halt.

Harry, like the others towards the back of the group, pushed forwards and craned his neck to see why they had stopped.

The prefects were standing either side of what looked to be a door, though there was no handle and Harry could see no way of opening it. Like the doors to the Great Hall, this one seemed to be made of oak. The wood was rich and slightly reddish, patterned with swirling, branching carvings and the natural grain of the wood. The overall effect was a kind of understated, earthy handsomeness that was neither overly decorative nor overly plain.

"Listen carefully, because we're about to show you the password. If you forget it, you can ask one of the older students to show you again, so don't worry, but its prob'ly best you learn it quick.

"To help you out, we're going to have you show us the password before you go in for practice."

With that, the male prefect tapped out a careful series of knocks on the door. Harry watched in amazement as it swung inwards and the boy stepped through the hole it revealed. It shut soundlessly behind him, and the girl started waving first years towards the door one at a time.

It was a fairly simple pattern to remember, so only one or two of them needed to be reminded – though it took most of them more than one try to get in. The tricky part was getting the timing right, Harry found when it came to his turn and he went through the sequence too quickly. Susan, who seemed to get the feeling of the pattern rather more quickly, followed him after just one attempt and trotted behind him down the short passageway to the common room, where the other first years were gathered, some drooping tiredly and others looking about with interest.

The Hufflepuff common room had the same practical handsomeness to it that the door did. It was vaguely circular, but by no means perfectly so – there were many little round doors and small alcoves tucked into the walls, creating sheltered study areas and leaving the main area free for a number of comfortable-looking ebony wood lounges with egg-yolk yellow cushions, several round tables, low bookcases lining the curving walls, and even a mound of bean-bags occupying one corner.

There were no windows, but this didn't create the claustrophobic effect Harry would have expected – instead, it made the room feel cosy and safe, and the walls were lined with enough paintings of various landscapes to make up for it anyway. Harry did wonder, though, where the smoke from the two merrily crackling fireplaces went, for the Hufflepuff common room was underground (of this he was certain) and there was no visible venting system, but the smoke seemed to disappear anyway.

"Alright, we know you're all tired, so we'll make this quick," the male prefect said, as the girl followed the last first year in. "Girls dorms are through the door on the right, boys sleep on the left. Boys, I wouldn't try going into the girls dorms unless you want to be walking for hours – there's an Endless Hallway charm on the hall which will activate if you try. If you want to try getting around it, make sure you've got an audience, because the results are always interesting to watch and I'm sure everyone would appreciate the break from studying.

"As for house rules, they're pretty simple – try not to lose points, be polite, ask for help if you need it, and work hard. We're not Ravenclaws, but we do expect you all to do your homework on time unless you've got a really good reason why not. If you need help, you're all welcome to ask the older students to explain something or demonstrate a spell.

"There's an official House study night every Saturday until May, and Professor Sprout will drop by for an hour or so to help out each week – if you need her help specifically, you can sign the roster and she'll make time for you.

"Also, don't worry about getting to the Great Hall. For the first week or so, at least one prefect will be here at eight o'clock each morning to show you to the Great Hall for breakfast. Please keep in mind that's a last minute measure to make sure no-one gets lost. We'd advise you to follow one of the other students down before that, if you can, so you have enough time to eat. Don't try finding it alone, though, because you're only going to get lost. If you still can't figure it out after a week, tag along with your year mates or ask an older student to walk you there – most of us don't bite, but I'd look out for Andrew Stebbins, because he's got a right nasty temper in the mornings." This earned some subdued chuckles.

"I think that's about it," the boy said, glancing his counterpart.

She nodded, then clapped her hands – startling some of those who were starting to doze off – and grinned. "Right then, you lot, off to bed with you all! Your things should be waiting in your dorms."

Harry, who was by now too tired to say much of anything, nodded in acknowledgement of the disjointed chorus of goodnights directed towards him and returned Susan's sleepy smile, before trotting off after Ernie and Justin to find the first year dorms.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, and dreamed of nothing but flying.

* * *

><p><strong>Welcome to the end of chapter three, and the <em>real <em>beginning of Harry's Hogwarts adventures! Next chapter, Harry's first day at Hogwarts - or part of it anyway! I don't own the bit of Sorting Hat song included here, obviously - that belongs to JKR and was taken from _Philosopher's Stone_.**

**As for reviews... what happened, guys? Twelve for chapter one and eight for chapter two?**** That said, I'm a terrible reviewer, so I don't really have room to talk, and I'm not going to hold the story hostage "until I get x amount of reviews", but I'd like to make you a deal: I promise to make a concerted effort to review what I read more often. In return, all I ask is that you do the same - not just for me, but for any story you read that you think is worth favouriting or alerting! Reviews honestly do make us want to update faster, so it's beneficial for all of us!**

**/end rant  
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**REVIEW REPLIES**

**_Judas'Dahlia_: Wow, congrats. You're the only one who successfully guessed Harry's Sorting! :) As for pairings: like I said, no need to worry about that until much later! I hope that when I DO get around to pairings, you'll judge the characters and relationships based on the way they've developed in Quillverse, rather than on your previous opinions :) Everyone's going to be a bit different to their canon counterparts, for obvious reasons, and hopefully you'll like my version of Ginny if/when she's introduced :)  
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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The next morning, Harry was up before any of the other boys in his dorm, too used to rising with the sun to cook breakfast for his relatives. He still felt tired, but habit kept him from falling asleep again, so instead he lay in the quiet dark of the badgers' den and listened to the sounds of morning. Ernie snored, though not terribly loudly, and Justin had a tendency to make quiet snuffling sounds every few minutes. Wayne Hopkins, his final roommate, slept so silently Harry had to check if he was still in bed at all (he was). The thick door to their dorm muffled most of the outside noise, but, with increasing frequency, he could hear footsteps passing the door.

When he could hear the dull murmur of voices in the common room – and a glance at the ticking clock by the door told him it was a quarter past six in the morning – he crawled out of his bed and began pulling his shower things out of his trunk. The Hufflepuff beds were really kind of neat, in Harry's opinion. They were low and circular, with a slightly raised ring of pillows attached around the outside, creating a cosy little nest. They were also wonderfully soft and smelled of sunlight and some kind of soothing herbal mixture.

Harry hurried across the cold stone floor, wishing that the dorm rooms had the same thick carpeting that the common room did, and ducked out the door as quickly as he could. The bathrooms in Hufflepuff house were communal, and he didn't want to run the risk of either missing out on a shower entirely, or having to take a cold one because the hot water had been used up.

The bathrooms were, thankfully, heated, and when he arrived only two of the five shower stalls were occupied. He slipped into the one on the end and went about his morning ablutions, luxuriating in the steaming hot water as it sprayed over him.

When he returned to the dorm, clad in his school robes and carrying the tie that had, curiously, become yellow and black overnight, the other boys were beginning to wake. They looked bleary eyed and yawned quite a lot, muttering about it being too early to be awake (though by the clock it was past six thirty). Harry left them to it, having returned his belongings to his trunk, and pottered out into the common room to wait for the prefect to take them to breakfast, stuffing his tie in his pocket on the way.

He saw maybe a dozen older students milling about. Some seemed to be adding last minute touches to holiday homework, others were curled up in the armchairs, reading or having a quiet conversation with friends. At first glance, he thought that he was the only first year in the common room, but he soon noticed Susan sitting in one of the studying alcoves, carefully writing on a sheaf of parchment with a tufted quill. He hesitated to join her, thinking she might want to be alone if she'd chosen to sit in the alcove, but decided that he'd say good morning anyway and see whether she'd like some company. It couldn't hurt to try.

"Good morning," he murmured, not wanting to draw the ire of the older students for breaking the quiet.

Susan glanced up, a mildly surprised look on her face, and then favoured him with an easy smile, gesturing to the seat opposite her. Harry sat down, relieved she didn't mind the interruption.

"Good morning, Harry. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thanks. Did you?"

"Yes," she replied, nodding and twirling her quill absently. "But I'm a light sleeper, and – don't say I said anything – Megan snores pretty awfully, so I've been up for a while. I can't wait to learn a silencing charm, but I don't think we start on those until fifth year."

"Maybe you could ask one of the prefects to put one up for you – surely that kind of thing happens a lot?" Harry suggested.

"I might do that, actually. Thank you."

They lapsed into an oddly comfortable silence, and Harry couldn't help but glance curiously at her parchment. He didn't read what she had written, but he did notice that the script was neat and the letters pleasingly round. It made him think of rocks worn smooth by a river, and bubbles emerging from a bubble wand.

Seeing the look, Susan explained. "It's a letter to my aunt. She's been under a bit of stress lately – she works at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you see, and apparently everyone's been in a bit of a tizzy since the break-in at Gringotts at the end of July."

"Break-in at Gringotts?" Harry echoed, "I thought that it was–"

"– Impossible to break into? Yeah, that's why everyone's so worked up about it, I suppose. Everyone wants to know how and why, but the goblins are too embarrassed and secretive to tell the Aurors anything, or let them poke around, so everyone's getting pretty wound up."

"Who'd be crazy enough to break into Gringotts?" Harry wondered, recalling the plaque that warned against thieves and Griphook's nasty smile as he explained the security measures on the vaults.

"Exactly," Susan said emphatically.

She returned to her letter, penning a couple more sentences before beginning a new paragraph. Harry watched her do this, curious about how she used the quill – he had tried a few times when he first got his school things, and had never quite mastered the art of writing without blotting ink all over the page. He noticed that she, like him, was dressed in her school robes, though she had rolled back her sleeves to the elbow and donned her tie. Unlike the night before, her hair was down, and he was a little amazed by just how much of it there was. It hung dark and heavy down her back, becoming wavy as it dried, and though didn't quite touch the seat of the chair it was a near thing. He wondered how she had time to care for so much hair, and thought there must be magic involved.

The silence had fallen between them again, but this time Harry felt compelled to get her talking again. There was something about talking to her that made him feel oddly excited. He had spent most of his childhood having conversations that consisted of being told to do his chores, or reminded that his parents were worthless deadbeats, or being teased by Dudley and his friends. In the wizarding world, he wasn't ordered around or made to feel like a worthless freak, but he still did, in some ways, feel like a freak. People looked at him like they were seeing Harry Potter instead of Harry, like they were seeing someone out of a legend instead of a skinny, awkward boy who was still wide-eyed with wonder about magic and their world. They looked at him and their eyes went to his scar, not to his eyes, and it was like being on display in a zoo or a museum. Susan... didn't. She looked him in the eye and talked to him without that note of awe or delight in her voice that made him uncomfortable.

"Why didn't you stare at my scar?" Harry asked, taking even himself by surprise at the question.

He had been wondering about that in the back of his mind since the previous night, but he hadn't intended to actually ask her about it. It felt like – what was that saying? – looking a gift horse in the mouth.

"Because it makes you uncomfortable," Susan replied, glancing up at him. "I was watching you when everyone else was introducing themselves, and it seemed to make you uncomfortable when people looked. It's probably not a good idea to make someone uncomfortable if you want to be friends with them."

"Friends?"

"Well, yeah," Susan said, almost too casually. "I imagine a lot of people want to be your friend but I was hoping I could be too."

"I, er, of course," Harry replied, somehow managing not to blurt, _You really want to be _my_ friend?_

She smiled again and began to re-read her letter, brushing the end of her quill against her lips as she did so.

_A friend_. The thought burst in his chest like the can of pop he'd once been allowed to drink: warm and bubbling and giddy. _A person who doesn't stare. Who wants to be my friend._

Magic, he decided, was definitely real – and wishes really did come true.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape was certain he was hearing things, because there was certainly not someone banging at his door in the wee hours of September 2nd, interrupting his precious peace and quiet. He resolved to ignore the hallucination until it went away, and returned to his perusal of the latest <em>International Potions Journal <em>issue with intent.

After five minutes, however, the knocking was starting to interfere with his focus, as were the muffled inquiries that accompanied it. So, with a snarl, Snape stood and swept across his private quarters to pull the door open.

"Pomona," he said acidly, when he realised who was standing at his door. "To what do I… owe the _pleasure_ of your company at this _fine_ hour of the morning?"

As always, Pomona was utterly unfazed by his venomous tone, and Snape felt his ire rising. She was always so damnably calm and at ease, no matter what he said to her! Blasted woman!

Still, it was quite odd for her to be at his door already – she usually waited until after he'd made one of her little badgers cry before she turned up in a huff demanding he was more gentle with their precious feelings…

"Harry Potter," the Herbology teacher replied crisply.

"Ah, yes." Snape felt his lip curl at the thought of the famous brat. "Our little celebrity… I'll not be giving him any special treatment, Pomona, whatever you and Minerva may insist upon doing in your own classrooms."

"I should hope not," Pomona snapped.

Snape was suddenly reminded why it was a phenomenally _bad_ idea to rile a badger. They might not be as immediately threatening as a lion, or as venomous as a snake, but they were fiercely protective of their young and their teeth and claws could be sharp if need be. Pomona was a sweetly smiling, gentle woman who would have grated on his nerves if not for her pragmatic nature, but she was also flint-eyed and steely when faced with percieved injustice.

"I should hope you will not treat him _any_ differently from _any other_ of your students, no matter _who his father_ may have been." She was staring at him pointedly, her expression grimly set. "If I hear _one word_ of you mistreating that boy, Severus Snape, you can be assured that you and I will have words on the matter. Is that clear?"

At his curt nod, she turned, and left Snape staring after her with what one might describe as respect.

* * *

><p>Harry hadn't thought that finding his way to breakfast would be quite as difficult as it turned out to be – but he hadn't accounted for the castle's tendency to move things about. None of the people in the paintings were in the same frames as they were the previous night, having moved around to visit one another, and the halls themselves seemed to have changed overnight.<p>

"Does everything have to move around?" He muttered to Susan as they trailed after Smith, who was leading them to the Great Hall. "The hallways are confusing enough without it."

"You think that's bad, Potter, wait until you're looking for a classroom," Smith called back in the superior tone of one who had greater experience. "A hundred and forty-two staircases in Hogwarts, and _all _of them move."

Harry groaned and glanced at Susan, who had somehow arranged her hair in a neat plait. She rolled her eyes and smiled at him, the expression sliding onto her face as smoothly as water over glass.

The Great Hall was just as impressive in daylight as it had been under starlight – perhaps even more so. The enchanted ceiling spilled rich, warm sunlight into pools on the floor and walls, dappling the entire hall with shades of gold, and a gentle breeze – he assumed this, too, was enchanted – carried the mouth-watering scent of breakfast to Harry's nose.

The Hufflepuff table was not as crowded as it had been the previous night – either with people or with food. They were still spoiled for choice, though, with baskets piled high with different fruits – apples, oranges, peaches, pears, bananas, grapes – and bowls of cereals and steaming porridge; platters of French toast and regular toast with a variety of fruit preserves and other spreads to go with it; sausages; eggs cooked every way possible; plates of bacon and kippers.

Susan set her satchel down and took a seat at the end of the Hufflepuff table nearest the doors. After a moment of hesitation, Harry opted to sit opposite her, rather than beside her. She took two slices of toast, a banana, and the nearest jar of honey and began combining the three. Harry stared in mild horror for a moment, before gathering his own breakfast together, watching her progress out of the corner of his eye.

Harry considered commenting, but decided that discretion was the better part of valour and left Susan to her strange breakfast, instead digging into his own plate of bacon and eggs. Dinner seemed ages ago, despite the amount he had eaten then, and he was ravenous.

He and Susan were by no means the first to arrive, but neither were they the last – most of Ravenclaw seemed to have arrived, along with perhaps half the Slytherins. The Gryffindors had the fewest members in attendance, and all of them were blinking owlishly, as though still half-asleep. Several of the teachers were also present – the tiny professor was having a conversation with a dumpy woman wearing a drooping, dirt-stained witch's hat, while Quirrel was casting nervous looks at the hook-nosed man sitting beside him, who had fixed his dark eyes rather intently on the stuttering professor.

For a moment, those dark eyes focused past Quirrel's purple turban and met Harry's – and a flash of pain erupted in Harry's head. He yelped quietly, and looked away, his hand clamped over his scar as if it would soothe the pain. He missed the professor's face creasing into a slight frown, and the unnerved expression that flitted through his unfathomable eyes.

"Are you okay?" Susan asked, looking concerned.

She was certainly not the only one staring at him, but she was the only one with concern, not curiosity, on her face. Harry pressed his fingers to his scar shakily and wondered what on earth had just happened. His scar had tingled, sometimes, after a nightmare – but it had never hurt like that before. Had the hook-nosed professor done something him, or was it coincidence? Maybe it was because he was around so much magic, or something. Harry had no idea what was normal for a curse scar.

"Yes, I-I think so."

"What happened?"

"I dunno, my scar hurt all of a sudden."

Susan now looked equally intrigued and worried. "Has it done that before?"

Harry shook his head.

"Maybe you should see the nurse…?"

"No, it's gone now. It was just for a second."

"But…"

"I'm fine now, I promise."

For the first time, Susan's eyes flicked up to his scar, a slight frown on her round face. Oddly, it didn't bother him as much as it usually did, and he refrained from smoothing his fringe over the scar, though the urge was there.

"What do you think we'll have first?" Harry asked, before she could open her mouth. "Classes, I mean."

Susan frowned faintly at the change of topic, but the expression smoothed into polite acceptance so quickly Harry thought he might have imagined it.

"Oh, I hope we have History of Magic," she said, eyes bright. "I _love_ history."

Harry gave her a strange look. "_Why_?"

Harry had always found history exceedingly boring. Most of it seemed to be remembering names and dates, and people arguing over what did or didn't happen, what had and hadn't been said, and who had or hadn't said it. Even learning about battles, which had seemed exciting enough in theory, had been boring because the teachers seemed more interested in the kind of weather and what the soldiers ate in the trenches than in interesting things like trench-foot and actual fighting.

"I just do," Susan replied in a way that made Harry think she wasn't being entirely honest. "Especially the Founders – it's my dream to write the most comprehensive account of the Founders' lives ever written."

"The Founders?" Harry asked, sensing the capital.

Susan blinked, eyes widening a fraction. "Of Hogwarts, of course! You know, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin? … No?"

Harry shook his head – he'd heard the names in the Sorting Hat's song, but he didn't really know anything about them, aside from what the Hat had mentioned.

"They – well, they founded Hogwarts a thousand years ago. We don't know a whole lot about them, actually which is pa- which is why they're so interesting! We just know little things, like Slytherin being a Parselmouth and about how he and Gryffindor got in a big fight about Muggleborns attending Hogwarts. We don't even know if that's the _real _reason the Founders split. It's just the most popular story. There's this one historian, Sextus Blinkhorn, who thinks that it might not be true at all, but we all think it is because the story's been around so long and – I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Harry laughed, immediately pressing his knuckles to his lips to muffle the sound. He couldn't help it. The breathless way she had been talking, completely enraptured by the topic with her eyes all bright and shining, and then her mollified realisation, had just been so _funny_. The dark-haired girl smiled apologetically at him, and he felt almost guilty to see her go back to her meal. She had looked so alight and passionate as she spoke, and now she looked embarrassed by her own enthusiasm.

"I, er, I don't mind listening, Susan," he said, hoping to ease her embarrassment. "I just don't really know what you're talking about."

"It's alright," she said, with that same apologetic smile. "I just tend to get carried away – sorry, what were we talking about?"

"Classes," Harry replied, promising himself he'd ask Susan about the Founders again some time.

"Oh, that's right. What are you looking forward to?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts sounds interesting."

"Yeah. I wonder who the professor is – apparently the post is cursed. No one's ever held the job more than a year."

"Really?" Harry asked, intrigued. "Professor Quirrel – in the turban, see? – he's the Defence professor. Hagrid told me."

"Who's Hagrid?"

"Er, the really big bloke who was sitting on the end at the Feast last night."

"Oh! I see. And Quirrel as Defence teacher, did you say? But he doesn't look like he'd be able to fight off a pixie!"

"Well, he's probably better than he looks – I mean, he has to be if he got hired, right?"

"Or they just ran out of other options…"

"Are you always this optimistic?"

"Only on Mondays," she quipped, grinning so widely her cheek dimpled.

"Susan!"

Harry looked up at the voice, and saw Megan Jones hurrying across the hall towards them. The rest of the Hufflepuff first year contingent was following her at a more sedate pace, Ernie and Hannah with their heads bent close, talking intently. A step behind the rest of the group was a pale, sickly looking girl whose name Harry couldn't immediately remember.

"Why didn' you wake me up?" Megan demanded, taking a spot beside her friend. "I woulda come with you- _Oh_." Upon spotting Harry, she gave Susan a significant look Harry didn't understand. "Mornin' Harry."

"I did, but you told me to bugger off. And don't give me that look, it's not like that all–"

"I did _not_!"

"You _did_! Morning Hannah, Ernie."

"Good morning Susan. Harry." Ernie nodded to each of them in turn, very seriously.

Harry fought to keep a straight face, and nodded back as seriously as he could. Susan seemed to have no such problem, somehow managing to look utterly solemn even as she smiled at Ernie. Harry was quite impressed.

The pale girl – Sally-Anne Perks, Harry recalled suddenly – slipped into a seat and slumped, looking exhausted. Harry watched her pluck a piece of buttered toast off a platter with shaking hands, and frowned in concern – was she ill? Or had she just slept badly? Maybe she had trouble sleeping in new places, or something.

"Hello, Harry," Hannah said, softly, as Susan greeted Sally-Anne. "Do you mind if I sit next to you?"

"Er, sure."

With that, breakfast deteriorated into loosely controlled chaos. Harry and Susan both helped themselves to seconds, dodging other hands and cutlery as Megan picked through the bacon for the best bits, Hannah grabbed a bowl of cereal, Sally-Anne shredded her toast into small pieces, Wayne slathered jam on several slices of toast, Justin nibbled on French toast, and Ernie served himself a sensible bowl of porridge.

In the midst of this, three separate conversations sprang up, shifting and changing as the participants switched between them – it was quite entertaining to watch, actually. Megan tended to talk with her hands, which became dangerous when she gestured vehemently at Justin to illustrate a point, fork still in hand, and nearly hit Wayne, who was passing the honey back to Susan. Harry caught sight of a wan smile on Sally-Anne's face as she watched Megan, but other than this she seemed almost unaware of what was going on around her.

Hannah became quite animated in a relating a story about the perils of Gobstones (a game like Muggle marbles, Harry was informed when he asked, except that gobstones spat various liquids at the players if they lost), and Harry ended up nearly choking on his food as he laughed. He was gravely warned by Ernie, who slapped him heartily on the back to dislodge the egg, that he ought to eat more carefully, and promised to do so.

Blinking tears from his eyes, still clearing his throat to get rid of any remaining egg, he spotted Neville and Hermione entering. Hermione had her nose tucked into a book, and was being guided by the elbow by Neville. The Gryffindor boy, upon spotting Harry, waved shyly with his free hand. Harry grinned and waved back, prompting a smile from the other boy, and making Hermione look up to see what was going on. She waved too, then sat down and promptly returned to her book, loading her plate as she did so.

"Friends of yours?" Justin asked, curious.

"Kind of– not really– I don't know…" Everyone gave him strange looks, and he flushed, hurrying to explain. "I met them on the train – Neville lost his toad and Hermione and I tried to help him find it – and they seemed nice enough, but I don't know if that means we're friends."

"They seem friendly," Hannah murmured.

"Yeah," Megan grinned, taking another bite of bacon. "'s not like people come up 'n' say, 'Hey, wanna be friends?', Potter – it just happens most the time, but you gotta start somewhere."

"What about Malfoy?" Wayne asked, jerking his chin towards the Slytherin table. "He your friend?"

"I wouldn't exactly call him a friend," Harry muttered, thinking of their uncomfortable meeting in Madam Malkin's, and similarly awkward meeting on the train.

"Well, he's staring at you."

Harry twisted in his seat and found that Malfoy was, indeed, staring at him. Rather than looking away when he saw that Harry had spotted his surveillance, he merely nodded again, this time more firmly than the night before. Harry nodded back, bewildered, and turned back to his housemates with a frown.

"What's that all about?"

Harry shook his head, still frowning. He thought of Malfoy's nods, the thoughtful look on his face, and the neutral expression he'd worn at the feast.

_He might not be a friend, but I don't think he's exactly an enemy either…_

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><p><strong>Well, that's chapter four, and half of Harry's first day (with an interlude by Snape). Up next is classes!<strong>

**Out of curiosity, what does everyone think of pacing so far? Am I going too slow? Are you getting bored? Things will pick up eventually, but for the moment I'm trying to get Harry and Draco to stop arguing every time they meet and develop the other friendships that will be central to this world. **

**Also, what do you think of the Hufflepuffs?  
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**REVIEW REPLIES**

**_Veronica_: Oh wow! Thank you so much! I can't stop smiling after reading your review! I'm so glad you think the characterisations are good, as they are something I worry about, and I will definitely be continuing to include extra bits of detail where JKR has left us in the dark :) I'm also glad that you like Susan so far, and are willing to overlook the lack of slash! You will be seeing more of Susan in the future, and I hope she continues to make a good impression :) Oh, and there is more Snape next chapter!  
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**_Judas'Dahlia_: Haha! Yep, well done! Glad you like the Hufflepuff common room/etc :) I had a lot of fun imagining it. I promise you more Draco soon :)  
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**_Mitarose_: Thanks again for the review :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much!  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

When the timetables came around, Susan was disappointed to find that they would not be having History of Magic until the following morning. Harry, on the other hand, was ecstatic to note that their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class would be just before lunch. The rest of the Hufflepuffs alternatively groaned or brightened at the class schedule, and quickly made their way back to the dorms to retrieve their book-bags. Unlike Harry and Susan, they had elected to leave them behind and pack when they knew which classes they would have, so they wouldn't be stuck lugging everything around all day (the prefect that had escorted them to breakfast had assured them that they would have time). Harry had a feeling he would soon be envying them, as his own bag (which contained all his text books, as well as several blank rolls of parchment, a bottle of ink and two quills) was quite heavy.

"Double Herbology in the greenhouses first, with the Gryffindors," Susan mused aloud, running her finger down the 'Monday' column of their timetable. "And Double Potions this afternoon, with the Ravenclaws."

"That early? How unfortunate."

Zacharias Smith dropped gracelessly into Ernie's recently vacated seat, earning an annoyed look from Susan and a surprised exclamation from Harry. Adopting a bored expression, he propped his chin up on the heel of his hand and eyed Harry's timetable, his own folded and hanging from between his thumb and forefinger. His eyebrows rose, and he let out a low, impressed whistle.

"And no free periods before then. Merlin, someone must have it out for you, cousin."

At their questioning looks, the second-year Hufflepuff gave a superior smirk. Susan's eyes narrowed irritably, to Harry's amusement. It seemed that Smith got under her skin just a much as she got under his.

"I'm here to warn you, Suzie, so don't look so ungrateful. Potions is taught by Snape: the nastiest bugger you'll ever meet and Head of Slytherin House. He favours them and treats everyone else horribly, and he doesn't have patience for idiots or slackers. You'll want to read as much of your text-book as you can before you have class, or else he'll embarrass you by asking questions you can't answer."

"I can see that optimism runs in the family," Harry said dryly, swallowing the last of his chilled water.

"I'm not a pessimist, Potter, I'm a realist. Snape's a right prick – ask anyone, except maybe his pet snakes."

"Thanks for the warning, Smith, but I think you –" Susan interjected, and plucked his timetable from his loose grip. " – had better get moving, you've got Defence first up."

Smith snatched his timetable back with a scowl. "I guess you don't want to know how to work your timetable, then."

"'How to work our timetable'?" Harry echoed.

"Yes." Smith paused just long enough that Susan started to become annoyed before continuing. "Watch this."

Both Harry and Susan leaned in for a better look as Smith pulled out his wand and smoothed his timetable flat on the breakfast table, pushing plates and cutlery out of the way as he did so. He tapped his wand to the first box in the Monday column (which read 'Defence Against the Dark Arts, _Professor Quirrel_') and said quite clearly, "_Lead me_."

Immediately, all the ink on the parchment began to run, swirling together and forming new lines – first a large circle, and then a much smaller one at its centre, from which an arrow bloomed. Harry watched in fascination as the compass needle – for that was what it was – spun wildly for a moment, and then stopped, pointing off to the left.

"It'll point you to your next lesson, so you don't get lost," Smith explained, twirling the parchment and making the arrow spin to compensate. "And if you need to find some place other than your next classroom, like a bathroom or the library, you just tap the compass again with your wand and say what you want to find – like this. _Library_."

Immediately, the compass whirled again before stopping again, now pointing in a different direction.

"How do you turn it off?" Harry asked.

Smith pressed his wand to the parchment again, this time saying, "_Direct me_", and the ink rearranged itself into the timetable once more.

"Thanks," Susan said appreciatively, looking at her timetable with renewed interest.

"You're welcome," Smith shrugged, standing up to leave. "Have fun in Herbology."

* * *

><p>Harry and Susan quickly found that they did not need the compass to find their way to Herbology. It was a nice day, with only the slightest of breezes and the sun was shining brightly over head, sending light glinting off the glass roofs and walls of the greenhouses that stood in a long row near the lake. It was a bit of a walk to reach them, but Harry didn't mind – it was lovely weather, and outside there were fewer people to whisper about him.<p>

The whispers had started up almost as soon as Harry entered the Great Hall, of course, but at the time he had been preoccupied with Susan, and then by the entire Hufflepuff first year contingent, and hadn't noticed it. He had definitely noticed it, however, when he and Susan started off for Herbology. The whispers had fluttered about the hall like a flock of tiny birds, nesting in his ears and making him increasingly uncomfortable.

The first year Gryffindors, of course, would still whisper, but there were only nine of them, so it would be much more bearable – the Hufflepuffs seemed to have gotten over the novelty of Harry's fame, and were treating him like they treated one another. Harry was grateful for this, as he tended to get nervous and uneasy when confronted with so much attention after being ignored for so long.

They arrived at the greenhouses just as the bell rang to signal the beginning of class. It was a deep, almost melancholy sound that rang across the grounds and lingered, reminding Harry of church bells.

They were not quite the first to arrive, but only the dumpy witch in the dirt-stained hat, who turned out to be their Herbology teacher, and two familiar Gryffindors had beaten them to class. Neville was peering curiously through the glass, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Hermione, who was slightly shorter than him and standing on tip-toes to do the same.

"Good morning, you four," the professor said cheerfully, swinging the doors of the smallest greenhouse open wide. "Welcome to Hufflepuff, Mr. Potter, Miss Bones. I'm Professor Sprout, teacher of Herbology and your Head of House here at Hogwarts. I trust you're settling in nicely?"

Harry, Susan and Neville murmured greetings and confirmations before ducking into the greenhouse one after the other. Hermione, on the other hand, immediately began a series of questions about the class, the topics they would be studying, and what kind of homework would be assigned.

Professor Sprout chuckled. "You're quite enthusiastic, aren't you Miss –?"

"Granger, Professor. Hermione Granger."

"Well, don't worry Miss Granger. We'll be going over the course aims before we get started today, and I won't be giving anyone more – or less – than they can handle."

Harry only half-heard this conversation, for he was far too busy staring around at the interior of the greenhouse. He had never been particularly fond of gardening or plants – he had spent one too many hot summer days weeding the flower beds at Number Four for that – but even he was fascinated by the array of plants on display. The contents of the greenhouse comprised of a workbench down the centre that came up to Harry's chest, several hanging pots, and two more benches against either wall of the greenhouse. The outside benches were covered with trays, some containing seedling pallets in various stages of growth, and some with large or small potted plants. He didn't know what any of them were called, but he could tell by the variety of colours and the shapes of the leaves and flowers that there were many different species.

He saw Susan examining one of the larger pots curiously and listening to Neville speak, who for the first time since Harry had met him, looked completely at ease. Hermione, on the other hand, was walking along the far bench, her brow furrowed and her lips moving as she muttered to herself.

"Ah, always nice to have students who are interested." Professor Sprout smiled. "But we'll get to the plants after your classmates are here – yes Miss Granger, after we've gone over the syllabus too – so why don't you all pick a spot?"

"Um, Professor?" Harry asked hesitantly, as he, Neville and Susan joined Hermione near the front of the room. "What about seats?"

"Ah, yes, of course. We don't do a lot of book work in this class, and I find most students prefer to stand when working with plants. Having stools in here only clutters it up, so it's more practical for me to just conjure them."

With that, Sprout flicked her wand and twenty sturdy-looking stools, high enough that to leave a good few inches between the occupant's feet and the ground, sprang into existence along the length of the work-bench.

Harry took a seat beside Susan, opposite Hermione, and grinned – he _loved_ magic.

* * *

><p>After the rest of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs arrived, Professor Sprout went over the course outlines – predictably, Hermione was the only one to pay much attention to this part, though Ernie made a valiant effort – and set them to work identifying a tray of different plants and seeds using their text books. It wasn't enormously interesting work, but it wasn't terribly boring either – Herbology probably wouldn't ever be Harry's favourite subject, but it was interesting to read about the magical properties of the plants they were working with.<p>

The work started out silently, but once the class realised that Professor Sprout didn't mind them talking or helping each other – "So long as you're not copying each other, I don't see the harm in working together. You'll still be learning." – the greenhouse filled with chatter. Susan and Neville picked up their earlier conversation – which turned out to be about the enormous garden Neville had at home and some of the plants that grew there – leaving Harry and Hermione working silently and alone.

Harry chewed his lip and cast a look at the bushy-haired Gryffindor as he wrote "Muriel's Mercy" beside a large number seven on his worksheet. The number corresponded to a small potted plant with bright blue berries that resembled small pears, each of which apparently contained the same level of nutrition as a full meal.

Hermione was only occasionally referring to her textbook, more often able to write the correct name beside each number without so much as pausing to think, and below each label was at least a sentence describing the properties of each plant – which was more than Professor Sprout had asked them to do. Harry was hesitant to interrupt her, but he kept thinking about Megan's words that morning: you had to start somewhere, if you wanted to make friends.

"So what's Gryffindor like?" Harry asked Hermione, for lack of a better question.

"It's wonderful!" Hermione whispered, to Harry's relief, in a voice full of excitement. "We live in one of the towers – I can see clear across the lake from my bedroom window! – and to get in you give the password to a painting called The Fat Lady. It's _amazing_, Harry. What's Hufflepuff like?"

"It's brilliant," he whispered back. "It's like a badger's den –"

"Sett, Harry, a badger's sett."

"Right, a badger's sett. To find it you have to walk through all these hallways that cross each other and loop back around, and they keep moving, so it's really easy to get lost down there, and you have to knock on this little round door to get in –"

"Like _The Hobbit_!"

"Er, right. And there aren't any windows inside, but there's loads of paintings –"

"_The Hobbit_? You've read Tolkien?" Susan interjected, looking up from her conversation with Neville. "Really?"

"Yes, of course."

"I didn't think any other wizarding kids would have – reading Muggle fantasy is a bit weird when you've grown up with magic."

"Well, I read it before I knew about magic, you see, so –"

"Oh! You're Muggleborn?" Susan exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Yes," Hermione replied slowly, frowning.

"Sorry, I just wouldn't have guessed," Susan explained, expression apologetic. "What was it like, finding out about magic for the first time? I grew up with it, see, so it's normal for me – but it must've been a shock for you."

"It was amazing," Hermione said in a slightly dreamy tone. "I didn't really believe it at first… I thought it was someone from school trying to trick me, but then Professor McGonagall came and explained everything. It _was_ quite a shock."

Absently, Harry nodded in agreement and Susan blinked, looking at him with her brow creased in confusion. He immediately wished he hadn't been so thoughtless.

"But didn't you know –?"

"My aunt and uncle are Muggles," Harry muttered. "I think they were hoping to – hoping that I wouldn't be magic at all. They never told me."

Susan seemed to understand that he didn't want to talk about his relatives, because she let it go immediately and, when Hermione seemed inclined to pry, turned the conversation back to Harry and Hermione discovering magic for the first time – an experience that Harry was more than happy to share.

* * *

><p>Defence Against the Dark Arts was a great disappointment for Harry, who had been looking forward to the class all morning. The lesson had been entirely theoretical and consisted of Quirrel stuttering his way through the first page of their text-book aloud before asking for volunteers. He became particularly agitated when one of the Slytherins asked if the garlic smell permeating the classroom was to keep vampires away – it was a popular rumour that he'd tangled with a particularly vicious vampire in Romania during his summer travelling, and was now terrified it would find him to exact revenge. Susan seemed to think this was a bit silly, and Harry was inclined to agree once he got past the idea that vampires were real.<p>

So by the time Harry arrived at lunch, he was feeling distinctly gloomy. Susan tried to cheer him up by reminding him it was only the first lesson, and Quirrel _had _said they would be moving on to spellwork in a fortnight or so, but a fortnight seemed like a long time to Harry and he couldn't imagine that even spellwork could make Quirrel's lessons any better.

Lunch was spent reading through their potions text-books between bites of sandwiches, fruit and cold meat, and sips of fresh juice. The other Hufflepuffs had been amused by their apparent studiousness at first, but after Susan explained about Snape, they got stuck into reading as well.

Harry found he didn't understand a lot of what the book said about potion bases, the clash of some magical properties and the importance of equilibrium when brewing, but after glancing at a few of the recipes, he was confident he could at least handle some of the simpler ones. It seemed a lot like cooking, and he had a lot of practice at doing that, having cooked for the Dursleys more times than he could count. The only differences were the ingredients (which were things like 'rabbit's blood', 'billywig stings' and 'dried newt eyes') and the complexity and preciseness of the instructions (which at times for an exact number of stirs clockwise or counter-clockwise, or for the use of an iron stirrer rather than a wooden one, though he couldn't see how this would matter).

As they trekked down to the Potions classroom, using Hannah's compass as a guide, Harry was struck by the difference between the dungeons and the hallways leading to the Hufflepuff dorms. The Hufflepuff hallways were winding, but well lit and welcoming, exuding a sense of safety. The dungeons, on the other hand, were dank and cold and forbidding. Moss grew in the cracks of the ancient stonework, and the air had a slightly stale quality to it that made him doubly glad he only had to spend a few hours down there.

The other first years seemed to agree with him, because they were shivering and glancing behind them with trepidation every few paces, as though worried something was stalking them in the thick shadows. At one point they had to walk through an almost pitch-dark section of corridor where one of the torches had burned out, and Harry was grateful for the press of Susan's shoulder against his.

It should have been a relief to find the classroom, but Snape had already arrived and gave them a scalding glare for their lack of punctuality. Harry thought this was entirely unfair, considering that it was their first day of class and they were only a few minutes late, but he didn't say anything about it.

The classroom wasn't exactly a welcoming place, either, as it was poorly lit and what little light there was made the shadows cast by the numerous specimen jars seem even more unnerving. There were only ten desks in the room, each roughly the size of a small dining table and obviously designed so that two cauldrons could be set up on them. There were also odd little carvings on the tabletop that Harry examined curiously for a moment, before turning his attention to the front of the room, where Snape was standing.

"You are here," Snape began in a low, carrying tone that brought an immediate hush over the shuffling students. "To learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. This is a magic different to any other you will learn here at Hogwarts and some of you will hardly believe it magic at all, for there will be no foolish wand-waving in this class. I will not teach you frivolous magics – levitating feathers and turning hedgehogs into pincushions. I will teach you magic with a practical use.

"If, and only if, you show this subject the respect it is due and exhibit the level diligence, seriousness and… intelligence," this he said with a faint sneer and it was clear by his tone that he was reluctant to consider any of them intelligent. "I expect, I will, in time, teach you to brew poisons and their antidotes, to cure common illnesses and even heal mortal wounds – to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death…

"If you do not, I will have you all pickling frog livers until May. _Is that clear_?"

Harry nodded quickly, noticing his classmates doing the same. There was a subtle threat in Snape's soft tone that was more terrifying than an outright yell, and Harry realised how badly he did _not_ want to draw Snape's ire. When Snape arrived at Harry's name on the roll, the expression on the man's face made Harry think that he'd managed to do it anyway, and he wondered what he could possibly have done to annoy Snape so badly.

Of course, that could have been Snape's natural expression, because he was a downright unpleasant man by nature and by appearance. His hair was lank and hung around his sallow, hook-nosed face in a greasy curtain, partially obscuring what was always some kind of sneer or dissatisfied expression. It did nothing to soften his tongue, though, and Harry soon learned it was sharp enough to draw blood.

Snape wasn't exactly _cruel_, but he certainly wasn't kind either. He was cutting when a student was too slow ("We don't have all day, Miss Brocklehurst. Do you know the answer or do you not?") or hesitant ("Is that an answer or a question, Miss Abbot?") in giving their responses to his abrupt round of questions, and glided between the rows of desks like a wraith as they nervously filled out the thirty-minute test he had given to _"see whether any of you bothered to open a book before arriving at school"_.

The test started out simply enough (_Name the three basic potion bases_, and, _give two of the twelve uses of dragon's blood in potions_), but became progressively harder until Harry found he couldn't give more than a blind guess at the correct answers. Susan seemed to be having similar troubles, as she was soon frowning and the sound of her quill scratching along parchment went from infrequent to nonexistent. They weren't the only ones, though, and that knowledge comforted Harry somewhat. Only a handful of the Ravenclaws wrote consistently throughout the test, and even they seemed to have trouble.

When their thirty minutes were up, Snape summoned their papers with a flick of his wand, ignoring the startled cries of those who were still writing when their paper flew out from under their quill. The twenty parchments rolled themselves in midair and settled in a neat pyramid on Snape's desk.

"You will now be tested on your practical capabilities," Snape informed them curtly. "You will find the instructions for a simple boil cure potion on page twenty-four of your textbooks. You have one hour and twenty minutes of class time remaining – use it wisely, and do _try_ not to destroy my classroom."

Harry decided to go with his earlier thoughts and treat potions a little like cooking. As he always did when working from a recipe, he carefully read over the instructions before he even thought about touching his ingredients. Once he was reasonably sure he understood what he was doing he arranged his mortar and pestle, array of silvery knives, and his cauldron with its pewter stand on his table. Only then did he open his potions kit.

The kit was rather interesting, even more so for some of the more gruesome ingredients. Harry got a little distracted examining the numerous glass vials with their odd, often colourful contents, and the many little sachets of powders and herbs, but he quickly turned his attention to finding the ingredients he needed. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was better to prepare them as he went, or go ahead and crush his snake fangs and slice his aloe now, but eventually decided that it probably wouldn't do any harm to start now.

Preparing the ingredients was only a little more difficult than preparing food for dinner – mostly because he wasn't sure whether he had sliced certain things finely enough – and he was done within ten minutes. This left him ten minutes to clear up after the potion was finished brewing, as the book said it would take an hour.

It was then that he realised he had no fire to simmer his cauldron over, though many of his classmates did.

"Susan," he whispered, turning his head towards his friend, who was alternately stirring her cauldron and frantically preparing ingredients. "How do I light a fire? I don't know a spell for that."

"Hm? Oh, right," Susan shook her head, looking faintly distressed. "You wouldn't know. See the carving? It's an ignition rune. The pattern is designed to carry magic and create a flame, so there's no activation phrase or spell needed – you just tap your wand into this bit, here, and it lights. We have them in the kitchen at home."

Harry did as she said, pressing his wandtip into one of the deeper grooves. Flames burst into life, dancing playfully a few inches above the tabletop, and Harry set to work.

* * *

><p>It was a small mercy that Severus' first day of classes had not involved Gryffindors – his first lesson of the day had been a SlytherinRavenclaw fourth year class, and he would freely admit that this was his favourite combination. Ravenclaws could usually be trusted to behave with proper decorum, and were far less likely to antagonise his snakes than the Gryffindors.

His afternoon class was first year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, which was a positive for as many reasons as it was a negative – particularly this year. On the one hand, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were usually (he would grudgingly admit) careful and diligent workers who seldom had any truly catastrophic mishaps, and they were far more easily cowed than stubborn, disrespectful Gryffindors. On the other, it meant that he would have to endure first year Gryffindor and Slytherin at some point during the week – what fool ever thought it a good idea to pair rival houses for a subject where the smallest mistake could end in grievous injury?

And then there was the matter of Harry Potter.

He, like every other person at the Sorting, had been stunned by Potter's Sorting. He had been expecting a Sorting something akin to Draco Malfoy's, where the Hat declared the boy a Gryffindor almost before it had touched his head – but Potter had been seated on the stool for a long, silent minute before the Hat had inexplicably placed him in Hufflepuff.

Severus wasn't sure what to think of this. It was, of course, possible that Potter had asked to be placed in Hufflepuff, but he couldn't see why the boy would do such a thing. Severus was far from stupid enough to consider Hufflepuff the House of Idiots (that title belonged to the Gryffindors alone), but it was true that they tended to do the thankless work that no-one ever truly noticed or acknowledged them for – and he had expected Potter to be just as attention-seeking and arrogant as his father had been, if not more so because of his fame.

His first instinct, reading that name on his roll and seeing that face staring up at him from the shadows of his classroom, had been to spit venom and vitriol and assure Potter that not _everyone _would be fawning over him, celebrity or not. He bit his tongue in light of Pomona's warning and, if he was honest with himself, not a little curiosity as to the boy's true nature. If the brat was as insolent and disrespectful as his father, Severus would have no compunctions about verbally hiding the boy, Pomona's threats be damned – but his Slytherin instincts were whispering that he should assess the situation before acting, and his Slytherin instincts could usually be trusted. They had kept him alive more than once.

Potter… surprised him. He listened to Severus' opening lecture and nodded with the same kind of fearful respect his classmates did, and Severus could find no trace of mockery in the expression. The boy had given a correct, if rudimentary, answer to the question Severus had asked him, and when given the written test, Potter did not sneer, scoff, whine or attempt to cheat. He merely set to work and answered far more of the questions than Severus might have expected him to, being the child of James Potter – though whether those questions were answered with any level of competence remained to be seen.

Furthermore, while his classmates rushed to set up cauldrons and pull out ingredients, Potter read through the recipe before setting his cauldron in its stand and collecting the appropriate ingredients from his potions kit. He had methodically prepared his ingredients before, under the instruction of his partner, lighting the ignition rune with a tap of his wand. Potter was by no means particularly talented, but he handled his knives and mortar and pestle with the ease of long experience, and Severus couldn't help but wonder if, with proper instruction, he might become rather adept.

The boy's meagre talent and proper respect for authority, however, was not enough to dull the pain that twisted itself into rage and hatred in Severus' chest. Every time he saw the boy's face with those bright, emerald green eyes, or heard him confer in whispers with the chubby, dark-haired girl beside him, Severus' hands began to tremble with mixed rage and longing. This was James Potter's child, but it was also Lily Evans' child – his deepest hate and his dearest love twisted into one creature. It made his frostbitten heart ache to think that Lily had carried Potter's child, and one part of him wanted nothing more than to curse the boy within an inch of his life for the crime of being that child.

Another part, a much smaller part, didn't care that the child had Potter's face, because those were _Lily's eyes_ and that alone made him precious.

It was best, he decided, to simply ignore the boy – if he didn't, he wasn't sure whether he would be able to restrain himself from killing him.

* * *

><p><strong>Aaand that's the end of chapter five, and Harry's first day! Next up is a bit of a timeskip, more Draco, and the beginning of some wonderful friendships ;) <strong>

**How was Snape's POV? And what did you all think of the compasses? It occurred to me that, considering Hogwarts is an enormous magical castle with rooms that move, the kids can hardly be expected to find their way to class without some kind of guide - thus, the compasses. I'd imagine that, in this world, the compasses are where the Marauders got the idea for the map, or at least the idea for the spells to use ;)**

**The ignition runes stemmed from a similar thought - I really can't see Snape lighting fires for everyone, and having inexperienced firsties casting fire charms probably isn't the brightest idea. Plus, how would magical stoves work? Hence, ignition runes! Safe (ish) and easy fire for the whole family!  
><strong>

**Also, have I mentioned that you're all bloody fantastic little reviewers? Thank you so much for your continued support, praise and advice! It's really inspiring to know that so many people are interested in what I'm creating here, and to hear that you're pleased with something I've put so much work into! I actually teared up a little when I got the reviews for last chapter, no joke. Thanks loads, guys! **

**REVIEW REPLIES**

**_Veronica_: Thank you so much! Particularly for your comment regarding Susan! I worry about her in particular, because she doesn't have a lot of canon appearances to endear her to everyone, so I have to work extra hard where she's concerned.**

**_MitaRose_: Things will pick up soon, after I get all the friendships and such established properly, and I will be diverging more from canon soon, too. And not to worry about the anonymity! Although, I am curious - why don't you have a account? Wouldn't that be easier for keeping track of updates and such?**

**_Judas'Dahlia_: Thank you! It's great to know that the setting description is good, as it's something I've always had a bit of trouble with - my writing tends to be more introspective, so I sometimes forget to include details about the setting. I've been working on it, though, and I'm glad it shows! As for the Founders, well: yes, there will be more about them in this story... but as for what, I will not say! :)  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

On Thursday morning, Harry woke from a fuzzy dream in which the constellations had dripped out of the sky, star by star, and come alive to deliver a solemn warning about garlic and bad breath. He moaned softly, blinking in an attempt to wake himself up, and rolled onto his stomach to grab his watch off the bedside table. It took him a moment to piece together what he was seeing (little hand halfway between the eight and the nine, big hand just past the six) and then he bolted out of bed with a gasp. He stumbled, legs tangled in the bedding, and reached to catch himself on the bedside table. The whole thing crashed to the ground with him, the few knickknacks he had placed atop it raining down on him with bruising force.

"What the bloody–!"

"Wha's go'n' on?"

"Shut up, the lot of you!"

Harry groaned and peered up from his new position on the ground. Ernie was sitting up and glaring at him reproachfully from his bed, blankets a rumpled mess around his waist and hair sticking up almost as wildly as Harry's did. Wayne had yet to emerge from his own cocoon, and didn't seem inclined to do so, and Justin was rolling onto his stomach, feet sticking out the end of his blankets.

"We're late!" Harry yelped, scrambling to his feet and kicking ineffectively at his blankets, heart pounding. "It's half past eight! Professor…" He trailed off, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he attempted to remember exactly _which_ professor was going to be furious, and whether he was more likely to end up as potions ingredients or used as a test subject for the new charm they were learning.

"Half eight? Oh, sod off!" Justin grumbled, burying his face into his pillow.

"But…"

A pillow flew at him from roughly the direction of Justin's bed, but missed by several feet.

"Astronomy last night, remember?" Ernie sighed, flopping back onto the bed. "We don't have lessons until eleven."

_Oh_, Harry thought, feeling his pulse begin to slow. "Sorry."

"Go back to sleep, you stupid bugger."

Guiltily, Harry spread his blankets back over his bed and clambered in, listening to his roommates shifting and breathing as they tried to fall asleep. The dorm was almost completely silent. Even the quiet sounds of the other students moving through the corridors and around the common room were absent, as almost everyone would be in class at this hour. Despite the quiet, however, Harry found sleep elusive – not that he was surprised. He had always had trouble falling back to sleep once he'd woken up.

Instead, he curled on his side, drawing his knees to his chest, and thought about the night before. Astronomy was going to be one of his favourite lessons, he was sure. It had been a hard walk, trekking up what felt like every staircase in Hogwarts to reach the astronomy tower, but when he had emerged onto the open-roofed tower with the rest of his classmates, Neville panting a few steps behind him and Susan breathing heavily through her nose, he had been awestruck by the view. Overhead, the sky had been dark like ink, the moon hanging suspended like a milky bead sewn into velvet, fat and gleaming. The stars had been a beauty all their own. Harry had never seen the sky so dark or the stars so bright before, and for once he understood why people complained about light pollution.

They had spent their lesson – midnight until two in the morning – learning how to put together a telescope and take it apart by hand, which Hermione had done so deftly Harry was sure she had done it before, and listening to Professor Sinistra tell the stories of the constellations as they filled in their star charts, her low voice rolling through the tranquil silence like a lullaby.

Harry had found the actual work a bit boring, but the stories had been interesting, and it had been nice to lie on his back, staring up at the stars with Neville's shoulder pressed against his on one side, and Susan's hair tickling his neck on the other. He had felt more at home in that quiet moment than at any other time in his _life_.

Afterwards, when they had descended from the tower, pink-cheeked from cold and complaining of aching feet, Sinistra had taken them to the Great Hall where platters of sweet pastries and steaming cups of hot chocolate had awaited them. By then they had been too tired to do much more than sip the hot chocolate and think longingly of their beds…

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Harry was nearly late for Charms. He had somehow managed to fall back to sleep and been roused two hours later by Ernie, who was frantically knotting his tie and berating Justin for not waking them sooner. He had barely had time to brush his teeth and scrub his face clean with soap and cold water, let alone shower, before they were hurrying out of the common room. The girls, who had waited for them, had delighted in laughing at their rumpled appearances and general panic, though Susan had given Harry a sympathetic smile and bumped shoulders with him as they automatically fell into step.<p>

Susan had quickly become Harry's best friend in Hufflepuff, though the others were certainly friendly and likable. It was just – well, easy to talk to her. Justin and Megan were both loud and cheerful people, who were loads of fun in small doses, but were a little overwhelming after long exposure. They both had so much energy that Harry felt exhausted after talking to them, and when they were together they could talk for _hours_, as though feeding off one another's enthusiasm. The two had, inevitably, become fast friends and, although they bickered rather more than Harry thought was normal, their arguments never lasted longer than the conversation did – all was forgiven and forgotten immediately.

Hannah was very sweet and, while shy, quite friendly. Harry never felt overwhelmed when spending time with her, but he never knew what to say to her either. Most of the time, they sat in silence and fumbled for things to say until they decided things had been quite awkward enough and gave up.

Wayne was a little like Hannah, but he was naturally quiet rather than shy. He and Hannah had become close and, despite neither one being particularly talkative, they managed to sit and talk quietly for hours at a time. Wayne never made Harry feel awkward, and his silences were much more comfortable than Hannah's, but neither was he forthcoming and Harry felt as though he didn't know Wayne all that well.

Ernie tended to gravitate between all the groups in Hufflepuff House. He spent time with Megan and Justin, until their rowdiness became too much for the very proper boy, and then he would move on to Wayne and Hannah, with whom he would have quiet, earnest conversations. Ernie was probably Harry's least favourite of the Hufflepuffs, though he didn't exactly dislike him. The other boy was just very pompous. Harry found his seriousness harder to deal with than Megan and Justin's exuberance, because he always felt as though Ernie was looking down on him. He suspected that this wasn't the case, but it still made it difficult to hold a conversation with him – as did Ernie's profound belief that he was always right. It wasn't so much that he outright dismissed everyone else's opinions; he just made it clear that he considered his more valid when all was said and done.

Harry felt a little bad about this, but sometimes he _forgot_ about Sally-Anne. The pale girl was so quiet and reclusive that Harry sometimes thought she may as well have been a ghost. Harry rarely saw her in the common room, even during study periods or at night, and the one time they had talked, it had been about homework. She seemed to have made friends with Hannah, who sat with her in class and was the only one of them who could consistently coax her bright smile out.

Susan, however, seemed to have some innate ability to know what to say and when to say it, and when to say nothing at all. Harry quite forgot to be nervous when speaking to her, though he still sometimes felt tongue-tied when confronted with the attention of another person. She seemed to have this effect on everyone. She could just as easily carry on a conversation with Ernie as with Hannah, who was her closest friend out of the girls, but she spent most of her time with Harry.

They arrived at the classroom with a few minutes to spare, to Harry's relief, and were met with the sight of the Slytherin delegation. For the most part, the Slytherins gave them disinterested, but disapproving, looks at their loud arrival and turned back to their own conversations.

Harry wasn't surprised to see Malfoy loitering towards the back of the group, flanked by his gormless companions (whose names, Harry had learned over the past few days, were Crabbe and Goyle) – nor was he surprised when Malfoy's eyes snapped up, combing over the group before coming to rest on Harry with laser intensity. Malfoy had been staring at him all week, though he had said little to Harry aside from a standard greeting when the situation called for it. By this stage, Harry would have been more surprised if Malfoy had ignored him completely.

"Morning, Potter. Puffies."

"Hello, Nott," Harry returned uneasily, as his housemates began to mingle with the Slytherins.

During Charms on Tuesday, when Malfoy had merely nodded a greeting and spent the remainder of the lesson alternately eyeing Harry speculatively and taking notes from his textbook as Professor Flitwik had instructed, the stringy boy from the train had introduced himself as Theodore Nott.

Nott made Harry intensely uncomfortable. While Malfoy's staring had been altogether more frequent and intent, it had become normal; Nott's gaze was sharp like a blade and made Harry feel as though he were being peeled apart layer by layer and inspected like an animal being dissected. He wasn't sure what, exactly, Nott was looking for, or whether he saw it in Harry, and Harry didn't know whether he wanted to know the answer.

Nott had also ended their conversation by saying it was, _interesting to meet you, Potter_, and Harry wasn't sure what he meant by that. _Interesting_ was a strange choice of word and there was something about the way he'd said it that made Harry nervous.

Luckily, Susan broke in to ask Nott a question about their homework (six inches summarising Goshawk's Theories of Fundamental Magic), which forced him to turn his attention away from Harry. There was a vaguely amused, and perhaps indulgent, look on Nott's face as he did so, but he and Susan were soon engrossed in a conversation that Harry couldn't be bothered concentrating hard enough to understand.

Harry didn't mind the Slytherins much, which was lucky, seeing as Hufflepuff and Slytherin had a total nine lessons together each week, compared to seven with the Gryffindors and three with the Ravenclaws. This was, from what Harry gathered, because the Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't get along very well. He didn't really understand why this was. The Slytherins weren't as friendly as the Hufflepuffs, and he found that they often seemed to be saying two things at once with every word, but they weren't too bad. Some of them, like Nott and Pansy Parkinson, who had bullied Hannah when they were paired together in Transfiguration, Harry didn't like, but others reminded him of his friends in odd ways – like Daphne Greengrass, whose smiles were colder than Susan's but similar somehow, and Tracey Davis, who was as animated as Megan, but more composed about it.

The Gryffindors didn't seem that bad either, though they were more abrasive than the Slytherins. Ron Weasley had sat beside him in History of Magic on Tuesday, keeping the lesson from getting too boring while Susan was occupied scribbling notes and being far too attentive. He was nice enough, if a bit over-awed with Harry. Harry had also become something like friends with Hermione and Neville, if the study date they had set for that afternoon was anything to go by.

The rest of the Gryffindors seemed to view Hufflepuffs in general as inferior beings, albeit in the amused, indulgent way an older brother regarded a younger brother as beneath them, rather than the lofty, superior way some of the Slytherins acted towards them.

The conversations petered out as the sound of quick, light footsteps began to echo through the stone hallway, doubling back on itself until Harry couldn't tell where it was coming from. He couldn't help but wonder what music would sound like in the halls of Hogwarts – echoing back until the air was thick with it.

"Good morning, good morning!" squeaked Professor Flitwik, as he trotted up the hall towards them. "I trust you have all completed your homework? Yes? Good, very good. In you go, then."

He waved his wand and the door swung inwards with a click and a groan. There was a minimum of jostling, unlike the classes they had with Gryffindor, which always began with a small stampede and a lot of noise, but Harry wound up towards the back of the line with Susan, Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy. Ahead of him, Nott was following a shaky Sally-Anne into the room.

The Charms classroom was a large, airy room with tiered seating along the back wall and enormous arched windows lining the wall opposite the door. The remaining wall featured several blackboards, and aside from Flitwik's desk in front of these, there was no furniture in the room. Sunlight filled the space like an entity of its own, making it feel warm and full despite the large empty space that would be used later for practicing spells that required more room, like Banishing Charms.

Harry walked to his usual desk on the window end of the middle row and set his book bag down on the desk-top, working the buckles open to extract his books. Susan was just lifting her bag, ready to set it down beside his, when Malfoy darted forward and dropped his belongings onto the desk.

Susan blinked, mouth open slightly and brows furrowed in the beginnings of anger. In a moment, however, the expression was gone and in its place was one of polite acceptance.

"Malfoy!" Harry hissed, scowling. "You can't just barge in like that! Susan was going to sit there."

"Oh, calm down, Potter. I'm sure Bones doesn't mind sitting somewhere else for one lesson," Malfoy replied, dismissive, as he began to unpack. "And if she does, she should get here sooner next time."

"_Malfoy_."

"It's fine, Harry," Susan interrupted, shouldering her bag again with a smile. "I don't mind."

"But-."

Susan shook her head, expression still fixed in a smile that was a little too easy to be entirely real, and turned to find herself a seat. There was an empty one beside Nott, who usually sat with Malfoy. Nott raised an eyebrow in her direction, inclining his head in what seemed to be invitation, because Susan was soon sliding into place beside him, murmuring her thanks, and unpacking for the lesson.

"That was _rude_, Malfoy."

Malfoy turned slightly and raised an eyebrow; in the sunlight, his sharp features cast shadows on his face and his hair was almost white. After a moment, he sighed in a put upon manner, expression bored.

"I'm _sorry_, then, Potter, if it bothers you that much."

"No you're not."

"Not particularly, no, but I can be if you'd like."

Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. "It doesn't work like that, Malfoy."

Malfoy just smirked in return and set his bag on the ground, textbook placed neatly on the desktop beside a roll of parchment, an ink bottle and an expensive looking quill. Harry grit his teeth and turned away, catching Susan's eye and smiling apologetically at her. She shrugged, flashing an answering smile, and opening her textbook to the beginning of chapter four, where they had left off.

* * *

><p>"Susan! Susan, wait!"<p>

The dark-haired girl stopped, half turning towards him as she waited for Harry to catch up to her. Harry had to jog to reach her quickly, as she had been one of the first out of the room and Harry one of the last. Behind him, Malfoy called out, but Harry paid him no mind, still annoyed from earlier.

"I'm really sorry about Malfoy," Harry said, peering anxiously at her. "He was a complete git."

"It's fine, really, Harry. I know Malfoy's a bit of a prat," Susan replied, smiling as she turned and started to walk down the hall once again, slower this time. "I've known him since I was small."

"You have?"

"Mm. His father's involved with the ministry a lot, and my aunt works for the DMLE, so we used to see a lot of each other."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising," Susan scolded. "Honestly, Harry, it's not your fault that Malfoy's the way he is."

"I'm not apologising. I'm saying, '_sorry you had to spend so much time with Malfoy. It must've been horrible.'_"

Susan snorted with laughter, grinning broadly and slightly crookedly; Harry grinned back, elated by the dimple in her cheek and her inelegant laughter. It suited her better than her polite smile.

"He's not that bad," she said, as they descended the stairs and came out in the walkway leading the grand staircase. "Well, not all the time. He's just… a pureblood."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Some older pureblood families, like Malfoy's, are," she paused, considering. "Well, they've got some funny ideas about how to raise their kids, and the kind of people they should be allowed to mix with. His father wouldn't have let him play with the muggle kids, and he doesn't have any siblings, so he'd have grown up mostly alone, spending time with kids like himself, who think they own the world. He doesn't know how to play well with others." Susan glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, expression neutral. "Or how to make friends."

It took Harry a moment to understand what Susan was implying.

"You… you think he's trying to make _friends_ with me?"

It wasn't as though the idea hadn't occurred to Harry – it had. First on the train, and once or twice since he arrived at Hogwarts, but he rather thought Malfoy would have _done_ something besides stare if he wanted to be friends. Or 'allies' – wasn't that what he'd called it?

Malfoy hadn't done anything, so Harry assumed it was some weird Slytherin thing (Nott stared too, and Harry was fairly sure he didn't want to be friends) or something to do with Harry being, well, Harry Potter, because _everyone_ stared at him for that.

But apparently Susan thought otherwise.

"Yes," Susan confirmed.

"But he's… _rude_ to you, and, and,_ annoying_! Why would that make me want to be his friend?" Harry gestured vaguely, brow creasing in confusion. "And he's just been _staring_ all week! Why? I don't get it."

"Him being rude and annoying is just what he's like; he doesn't know any better, and even if he did, he'd think he was entitled to act that way because he's a Malfoy. The staring, though… I don't know. Do you have _any_ idea why he's staring?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, and then stopped, considering the question a moment. "Well, maybe. Not really. I met him on the train, when I was helping Neville look for Trevor, and he was rude then too. He asked me why I was helping Neville, and I told him it was because Neville needed help, and then he just stared at me until I left."

"Oh, that would do it."

"What?"

"Harry, Malfoy's a Slytherin through and through, and to a Slytherin, there are two ways of viewing people: as an equal, or as an inferior. Equals are people who think like Slytherins – they play _everything _to their advantage. They need to be handled carefully, so as to cultivate an ally, rather than create an enemy. Every interaction with an equal is like a play in a game of chess, or a step in a dance where both people are trying to lead. It's about gaining the advantage.

"Inferiors are people who are _not_ Slytherin. They're… pawns, really. People that a Slytherin can use to their advantage because they have power and influence, but no idea how to use it, or they're… like us. Like Hufflepuffs, who do things because it's right to do them, rather than because there's an advantage in doing it. It means we're hard workers and good people, true, but it also means we can be taken advantage of, can be manipulated.

"He was expecting you to be an equal; someone he needed to cultivate as an ally. But helping Neville because it was _right_ to do it, that's an 'inferior' thing to do – you surprised him, so he's re-evaluating how to deal with you."

"That's… That's stupid, though," Harry muttered, frustrated. "Why does it matter why I did it? Why does he care?"

"Everything's politics to a Slytherin – everything has a hidden meaning, or a trap hidden somewhere, or a motive that you don't immediately understand. He's used to people who try to trick him by doing or saying one thing, and meaning another by it."

Harry thought this seemed like a very exhausting way to live, second guessing everything and guarding yourself against everyone in case they turned on you. It didn't seem like a nice way to live, if you wanted friends.

They descended the grand staircase to the Entrance Hall in silence, shoes slapping dully against the stone floor and the sounds of the rest of the school in the Great Hall filtering out to them through the half-open doors.

"You seem to understand Slytherins pretty well," Harry observed, resolving to consider her words more carefully later.

"Well, the Hat did consider it for me." She shrugged. "But it decided that I wasn't ambitious enough to pick Slytherin over Hufflepuff. Plus, you grow up surrounded by politicians and you pick things up."

She grinned again, without a dimple, and stepped through the doors to the Great Hall, where lunch was in full swing.

Harry's mouth watered at the sight of the Hufflepuff table, laden with various foodstuffs, and he momentarily forgot the conversation with Susan, distracted by the fierce cramp of hunger low in his belly. It could have been bread and cheese hastily slapped together by Aunt Petunia and it would have felt like a lavish feast, Harry was so hungry.

The two friends scurried over to join their housemates, who were digging in with relish already. They were greeted with smiles and waves and an actual "hello" from Ernie, but no-one was really talking because they were too preoccupied filling their bellies with cold meats and sandwiches. They had slept through breakfast and the pastries from the night before hadn't really been enough to keep them going.

Harry snagged a chicken sandwich and took a bite, chewing as he piled a plate high with potato salad and a second sandwich, nodding to Susan as she offered to pour his pumpkin juice for him.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until later, when they were all full and spending their break period lazing about on the grounds, enjoying the lingering summer warmth while it lasted, that Harry thought about their conversation again.<p>

He rolled onto his full belly, turning his head so that he could look at Susan, his cheek resting against his folded arms. She was lying on her back beside him, hands folded on her stomach and eyes closed against the sunlight. It was a peaceful moment. There was nothing in the world but the gentle breeze rustling the trees of the Forbidden Forest and the sounds of their housemates chattering not too far off, and Harry was quite certain he could fall asleep there with no trouble at all.

"Do you really think Malfoy wants to be friends?" he asked quietly, so only Susan could hear.

"Yes," Susan replied sleepily, in a voice that made the words feel like warm toffee in Harry's mind: thick and sweet and slow. "But, do you?"

"Think he wants to be my friend?"

"No, do you want to be _his_ friend?"

"… I don't know. He's… not a very nice person."

"No, not really," Susan agreed.

Harry closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of grass and sunlight and Susan's cloak where it was spread out under her, overlapped with his so they could lie down and not get itchy from the grass.

Did he want to be Malfoy's friend? The other boy certainly wasn't _nice_, and Harry wasn't even sure he liked him – but, if Malfoy really wanted to be friends, then surely Harry should give him a chance at least? Harry remembered what it was like not to have friends all too vividly, and what it was like to try and make friends, only to have them reject you. It wasn't a nice feeling.

Could Harry do that to someone just because he didn't like them all that much? And how did he know he wouldn't like Malfoy if he got to know him better? He didn't _really_ know Malfoy. Even though their two conversations so far had made him seem like a complete prat, there was something else, something about the look on Malfoy's face sometimes, that made Harry think that couldn't be _all_ the other boy was.

"I think I should give him a chance," Harry said, at length. "But he'll have to stop being rude and mean to you, and everyone else, or I won't be friends with him."

When Susan didn't reply for several moments, Harry opened his eyes. She was looking back at him, her head turned towards him and her brown eyes a kind of dark honey-gold from the angle of the sunlight. She smiled, rolling onto her side and resting her dimpled cheek on her forearm.

"I think that's a good decision," she said, voice soft. "Maybe you could invite him to study with us this afternoon, with Neville and Hermione? We have Transfiguration with the Slytherins last, so you can ask him then."

"Yeah… I think I will."

* * *

><p>The Hogwarts library was much like every other room in Hogwarts. It boasted a high, arched ceiling like a Muggle cathedral church, thick carpet in a dark shade of red that made Harry think of royalty, and smooth stone walls studded with iron hooks bearing large, heavy-looking lamps. The outer wall was broken by enormous windows through which the treetops of the Forbidden Forest could be seen, bent together like dark-haired conspirators. Inside, they overlooked a stretch of open space filled with an eclectic assortment of tables and chairs, which were only similar in that they were usually occupied by large piles of books and frowning, ink-stained students.<p>

Harry was quite certain that it was possible to get lost in the stacks if you weren't careful. They soared to the ceiling and seemed to go on forever, disappearing into the shadows that inhabited all corners of the library despite the wealth of light from the windows. Harry had wondered how it was possible to access the books at the top of the towering shelves, but then he had seen a girl climb onto one of the small stepladders and ascend upon it to peruse the higher shelves.

Quite aside from the detailed fresco on the ceiling and the numerous paintings, the bookshelves themselves were amazing. Harry couldn't have named the wood they were made from, but it was a warm gold-brown colour and glossy with lacquer, the surface decorated with intricate carvings that he longed to run his fingers over. It reminded Harry of the Hufflepuff common room, in that it wasn't overtly decorated, but there was something more strict and organised about the library.

It was a beautiful place, if a little intimidating, and Harry decided that spending a lot of time there wouldn't be so bad. On the whole, he rather liked libraries. He had spent most of his recesses and lunches in the one at his primary school in order to avoid Dudley, and the local public library had been his Aunt Petunia's favourite place to leave him while she was shopping, or if she didn't feel like dealing with him for the weekend. It hadn't made him a book lover, but there was something comfortingly familiar about the smell of books and the long rows of them surrounding him. It felt safe.

"Come on," Susan whispered, tugging on his sleeve to draw his attention away from the interesting designs on the bookshelves. "I can't see Neville or Hermione yet, and if we don't get a table soon they'll all be taken."

Harry cast one last look at the carvings on the bookshelf closest to him and trotted after Susan, keenly aware of the sound of his robes swishing in the near-silence of the library. The carpet soaked up the sounds of their footsteps, but did nothing to muffle their breathing or the shift of fabric as they walked, and Harry was wary of drawing the formidable Madam Pince down on them.

Madam Pince, the librarian, was a thing of Hogwarts legend in the same way that Professor Snape was, or that Filch and his vicious cat, Mrs. Norris were. She was feared by first years and seventh years alike for her ferocity, and according to Harry's older housemates, she spent most of her time prowling the stacks, waiting to verbally flay students for breathing on her books the wrong way. She loathed Gryffindors, tolerated Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, and seemed to have a grudging fondness for Ravenclaws.

Harry had seen her only once, when she had given a speech about the library at dinner after their first day of classes, but even that brief encounter had left him with no doubts that Pince was not a woman to cross. He planned to be _reverent_ in all his dealings with Hogwarts library books, just in case she decided to use his skin for book covers or something equally horrible.

Susan led Harry to a table at the far end of the library, under a window that gave them a wonderful view of the grounds. The wood was scarred and ink-stained, and it had six sturdy wooden chairs arranged around it, two on each of the longer sides and one at either end. She took a seat with her back to the window, methodically unpacking her bag, and after a moment of hesitation, Harry took the end seat nearest to her. From there, he could see the library door and, he noticed with a smile, Hermione's bushy head bobbing towards them, Neville's dull blond hair almost golden in the dying sunlight.

"Sorry we're late," Hermione breathed, looking oddly pale and harassed as she dumped her bag on the table rather harder than necessary. "Peeves caught us with flour bombs in the corridor."

"And water-bombs," Neville added mournfully, touching his damp hair gingerly. "A Ravenclaw managed to get the worst of it out, though, I think."

"That's alright," Harry assured them. "We only just arrived anyway. Rotten luck about Peeves – he got Wayne and Hannah yesterday. Dungbombs."

The Gryffindors paused in their unpacking to wince sympathetically.

Harry had not yet encountered Peeves, but he'd heard the stories, and by all accounts he was lucky to have avoided the poltergeist so far. Peeves was a prankster of the highest order and delighted in terrorising Filch, the creepy old caretaker, which should have made him a great ally to the student body – but Peeves really didn't discriminate when he started pelting chalk at people. The only creature capable of controlling him, Harry had been told, was the Bloody Baron, who had very strict ideas about how a ghost should behave.

"What's that?" Hermione asked Susan, peering at the length of parchment that the Hufflepuff girl was bent over with a frown. "Is it Potions homework? We don't have Potions until tomorrow, and none of our other homework is more than twenty inches…"

"History of Magic," Harry replied, before Susan could so much as open her mouth.

Judging by the length, there was no doubt which subject it was for. The essay Binns had assigned them was only eighteen inches, but Susan's was shaping up to be at least thirty. Susan was by no means the kind of overachiever Hermione was – in fact, she wasn't even particularly studious – but she was truly passionate about History of Magic. She put in the effort in all her subjects, like all the Hufflepuffs did, but for History of Magic she went the extra mile.

"The one on Ulric the Evil's contributions to the 1183 rebellion? I could have sworn Binn's said eighteen inches…" Hermione bit her lip anxiously, digging a small datebook out of her bag and flipping it open to September.

"Yes, that one," Susan replied, as Hermione settled into the seat beside her. "And he did say eighteen inches, but I thought I ought to include Rutherford's argument about the Ministry involvement…"

"But Binns specified to use goblin sources."

"True, but Rutherford's argument is _based_ on goblin sources…"

And just like that, the girls were lost in the pages of history. Harry shared a half helpless, half amused look with Neville, who had claimed the seat beside Harry and across from Susan. The Gryffindor boy had taken out two textbooks, and seemed torn between Herbology, which Harry knew he was quite clever at, and Potions, which Harry had warned him to study for after History of Magic the previous day.

"I'll help you with Potions if you help me with Herbology," Harry offered, smiling hesitantly. "I'm rubbish with plants."

"Really?" Neville asked, eyes wide. "You would?"

"Well, yeah. You're brilliant at Herbology," Harry replied, grinning as Neville flushed and ducked his head, a shy smile playing on his lips. "And Potions isn't that bad, once you understand the basics. I promise."

"Is it true about Snape?" Neville asked, setting his Herbology textbook aside and cracking the Potions book open to the introductory chapter. "Everyone says he's horrible…"

"I guess," Harry said, after a moment's pause. "He's… not _nice_. He can be a bit nasty but mostly he ignores you or glares, unless you melt the cauldron or something. But I'm sure you won't."

"I bet I _do_," Neville said miserably. "I'm pants at Potions. My Gran let me help her once, when I was little, but I was awful and it made the house smell like peanuts for a week. It's just… I'm really forgetful, so I worry so much about remembering what comes next that I forget what I'm doing at the time and it all just… goes wrong."

"You'll be fine," Harry said, trying for the reassuring tone Susan used when he was feeling frustrated with his homework. "And if you start getting confused, Hermione'll take care of you. I'm sure she'll be great at Potions. It's mostly being organised, and Hermione's one of the most organised people I've ever met. Just make sure – oh."

"Hello, Potter," Malfoy drawled, long legs eating up the last few metres between him and the group. "Sorry about earlier, Bones. That was impolite of me."

"Oh, it's alright, Malfoy," Susan replied amiably, smiling at him. "It was nothing I didn't expect."

Harry watched Malfoy's expression pinch as he registered the honeyed barb in her words, and bit his lip to keep from smiling. Malfoy smirked at her, eyes cold but bright with something like interest, and turned his attention to the others. He froze, for a moment visibly surprised, before his face went blank.

"What's _he _doing here?" Neville asked, half-fearful and half-angry.

"You didn't tell me you were studying with know-it-all Granger and _Longbottom_, Potter," he said, unable to completely mask the distaste in his tone. "I would have thought you had better taste than that."

"_You_ didn't ask," Harry shot back, hands fisting. "You never do. Maybe if you stopped to think about other people once in a while, you'd think to ask the important questions." _Like what my name was, before you went on about your bloody broomstick, or who I was studying with, if something like that matters to you. _

Under the table, Harry felt Susan's knee press against his in warning, but when he glanced at her, she seemed to be completely engrossed in re-reading her History of Magic essay. Beside her, Hermione's eyes were narrowed and furious, her face chalk-white except for two spots of colour high on her cheeks.

Maybe he should have stopped to think, too, and asked the others before inviting someone extra to study with them. He'd meant to tell – or perhaps _warn_ – the others about Draco before he arrived, but by the time Harry had gotten over his awe of the library, he'd rather forgotten.

Harry took a breath, concentrating on the warmth of Susan's knee instead of the anger urging him to say something stupid.

_He's not all bad_, Harry reminded himself firmly. _He wants to be friends, and you said you'd give him a chance._

"Listen, Malfoy," Harry said, as calmly as possible. "I invited you here. I didn't have to. I _want_ to be your friend – or 'ally', or whatever – but you're making it really bloody difficult. If _you_ really want to be my friend, you have to stop picking on my friends and being rude for no reason, alright?"

Malfoy met his challenging stare head on, but his gaze was considering, rather than mulish. Harry had half-expected a scowl, or a sulky pout, but Malfoy's expression was as calmly serene as Susan's, and Harry felt himself relax. He hadn't been wrong about Malfoy, then – he was priggish and demanding, but there was a strange kind of thoughtfulness there too. Maybe it wasn't sensitivity or consideration for others, but it was something.

The Slytherin boy blinked, cutting his eyes from Harry to Neville, who was watching Malfoy as warily as an abused dog watched a raised hand. He flinched almost imperceptibly under the focus of Malfoy's grey eyes. Malfoy smirked faintly.

"Would you mind if I sat beside you, Longbottom?" Malfoy asked, carefully polite. "I'd like to join you all, if that's alright."

Neville opened his mouth, and then closed it, looking to Hermione in silent question. The bushy-haired girl was frowning severely, brows creased. She looked hesitant, as though her manners were warring with her dislike of the boy, and Harry could relate – but Malfoy was willing to make the effort, and Harry wanted this to work.

"Hermione," Harry said quietly, before she could decide either way. "I invited Malfoy today. I should have asked you first, and I'm sorry, but I'd… I'd like it if we could all get along."

Hermione bit her lip, still hesitant.

"I know asking you to be friends is a bit too much to ask," Harry said frankly, catching a small smirk on Susan's face at the words. "But _I _want to be friends with _both_ of you, so… if Malfoy promises to be civil, will you let him sit with us? Please?"

The Gryffindor girl's expression softened so immediately that Harry was startled and slightly confused as to exactly what he had said to convince her. There was a warmth and surprised delight in her eyes that made Harry smile back at her automatically, and he thought that he liked her the best this way: smiling and happy, instead of bossy and serious.

It made him wonder, too, whether everyone had two faces – one they wore often, like Malfoy's arrogance and Hermione's superiority, and a secret one that was softer and more vulnerable. He'd never really thought of people as simple before, but he'd never realised just how complex they could be, either.

"All right, Harry," Hermione said, before turning to add, "You can join us, Malfoy, if you're going to be polite."

Malfoy's mouth trembled, half quirking into a sneer before he could smooth his expression into neutrality, and he took the seat beside Neville without another word.

It wasn't perfect, and you could have cut the tension at the table with a knife, but watching Susan pull Hermione back into a History-related discussion and Malfoy listen with vague interest, Harry thought that it was a good start.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope the length makes up for the general crapness of that last scene. Sorry guys, Draco's a bitch to write because he won't stop mouthing off! That last scene really kicked my arse, but it was important, so I couldn't just cut it.<strong>

**Anyhow, welcome to the end of chapter six. Pace starts to pick up a bit now! In the next seven chapters or so, we'll cover Flying Lessons (which I am looking forward to!) and the Troll Incident, which is the scene/chapter I have wanted to write since I came up with this idea about a year ago! Stay tuned, people!**

**I'll be posting a little interlude chapter on Wednesday, which will show you a bit more about Draco's thoughts at the moment! Also, the regular Friday update should be up on time :)  
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**REVIEW REPLIES  
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**_MitaRose_: Other points of view will show up throughout, but I'm not sure how many different teacher POVs we'll get. Hagrid will show up in the next couple of chapters, and Harry will remain friends with him, but I'm not sure if they'll be as close as in canon. Ah, I see. I thought you might do something like that to keep track. Although, just because you don't post anything, doesn't mean you can't have an account :) Plenty of people just use them for keeping track of updates more easily! **

**You write sci-fi, eh? Do you have a fictionpress account, or do you not post online? :)**

**_Veronica_: Thank you so much! Reading your reviews always puts a smile on my face! I'm so glad you liked the little explanatory bits/amendments. As for Snape, I agree that he's much cleverer than we see in the first couple of books. His actions in them seem... short-sighted, which we know Snape is not (well, when Harry's not involved anyway). There will be more Snape-POV in future, although I can't say for sure when ;)**

**_Judas'Dahlia_: Ah, I'm sorry you found Herbology and DADA boring. Herbology was included because I needed a scene to have Harry, Hermione, Neville and Susan all meet and talk. It's about establishing a friendship ;) DADA was only a paragraph, haha, was it really such a chore to read? I kept it because it was a class Harry had been looking forward to and was disappointed by. As for Harry's opinion of Potions - he didn't really have much of one before the lesson in _Philosopher's Stone_, and it was mostly Snape's attitude that turned him off it. With Snape being a bit less aggressive, Harry has a chance to form a proper opinion :) **


	7. Chapter 7: An Interlude

**Chapter Seven: An Interlude**

Late on his first Friday night at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy ascended the stairs from the dungeons, a hard-earned pass clutched in his fist. It had not been an easy task convincing the fifth year prefect, Terrance Higgs, to give him permission to be out of the common room after curfew. The older boy had seemed to think he was being overly audacious in demanding one, but he had eventually conceded and signed the pass for him.

He emerged into the Great Hall, his footsteps echoing eerily in the total silence of the star-lit hall, and turned his face upwards with a small sigh of relief. He could feel his muscles loosening as some the tension ebbed out of his body, but he didn't stay long – his pass only permitted him to stay out after curfew until ten, meaning he had only an hour to make it to the owlery and back.

He kept a brisk pace as he crossed the Entrance Hall and climbed the grand staircase, his expression carefully schooled even though he was alone in the halls. There was always a risk that a prefect or a teacher would stumble across him, and it wouldn't do to be seen with his guard down.

He followed the hall past the Charms classroom to another staircase, pausing impatiently as it completed a slow cycle and ground back to halt before him, then stomped up it, scowling at the faint burning sensation in his thighs. He was used to staircases, given the size and height of the Malfoy manor, but Hogwarts was simply enormous, and he had been dashing about it all week getting from class to class.

_Why_, Draco thought angrily, _do they insist on having classrooms all over the bloody castle instead of in one wing? I'll drop dead of exhaustion before the year is up._

Eventually, panting, he arrived at an unremarkable wooden door tucked into a side corridor, and twisted the brass handle to force it outwards. He stepped onto the narrow, open walkway beyond. Outside, the night folded in around him like a fine velvet cloak, the breeze gentle and sweet with the scents of green things and soil. The stars overhead were glimmering between the clouds, their patterns just the same as at home.

Homesickness hit him like a physical ache as he looked out across the unfamiliar landscape, but instead of forcing it away as he usually did, he allowed himself a quiet, unguarded moment to feel it. Alone in the dark, he let the last of the tension melt out of his body.

It wasn't that he didn't like the Slytherin common room; it was suitably refined and threatening, with its low ceiling and dim, flickering lighting and pervading damp. The stone floors were smooth and polished, unlike the rough floors of the corridors, and the furniture was at once elegant and masculine in a way that he appreciated. He was particularly fond of the windows in the dormitories, which looked out into the lake and sometimes allowed him glimpses of the nightmarish shadows that darted through the water.

He liked it well enough, but it was enclosed and dark and made him feel slightly claustrophobic. He missed the open space of his room. He missed the brilliant mosaic floors and long windows; the view through the west window of the sunset on the inner courtyard and the sunrise over his mother's private gardens in the east. He missed watching the sky turn bloody pink and luminous gold and seeing the world stretching beyond. It had always made him think of endless possibilities and sometimes it made him feel like, if he wanted, he could reach out and cup the world in his hands.

Shaking the melancholy off, he glanced along the walkway, grudgingly admiring the odd beauty of the crumbling owlery tower, and paused a moment. He had a letter to write, but it would be far too dark in the tower to do so. He turned back to the doorway, considering. There was a torch burning inside the castle and the light spilled out. Not far enough to light the whole walkway, but from his current position there would be enough to write by. After a moment of thought, he lowered himself to sit on the exposed walkway and opened his book bag with methodical hands. He shivered slightly at the cold he could feel leaching into his body from the stone parapet against his back and the ground under his thighs.

_Mother_, he wrote, once he had arranged his parchment, using a textbook across his thighs as a writing desk, and inked his favourite eagle-feather quill. _Thank you for the care package; it was well received. I am the envy of my housemates. Already they are pestering me to share my Sugar Quills with them in History of Magic. Binns is no more interesting than he was in your time at Hogwarts, I fear, but the Quills will go a long way to making the experience tolerable. _

_My first week at Hogwarts has been…_

He paused, considering. The letter was ostensibly addressed to his mother, but he knew his father would read it. It wouldn't do to write _exhausting_, which was true, or _bloody confusing_, which was perhaps even more so, in a letter his father would read. _Bloody confusing_ would probably also earn him a stern warning from his mother and a mouth-washing when he returned at Christmas.

His first week at Hogwarts had been more of a trial than he had anticipated. Oh, he'd expected the classes to be tiring, the Gryffindors to be boorish, and the politics of Slytherin House to grate on his nerves, but he hadn't counted on Harry bloody Potter to be so ridiculously _confusing_.

He had expected Potter to be _aware_ of himself and his influence, though he had accepted that a Slytherin Potter was too much to hope for, given his family's propensity for Gryffindor Sortings. So, when he'd heard Potter was actually going from cabin to cabin, he'd been delighted. Potter was _networking_. He was _gathering allies_. It was perfect! Somehow, against the odds, Potter was not only aware, but positively _Slytherin_. All Draco had to do was establish himself as a strong player, a worthy ally, and the two of them would _rule_ Slytherin House together. The vision was so strong it was almost real in that moment.

But then Potter had shown up, all wide green eyes and asking about a damn _toad_. It would have been alright if the toad belonged to someone important – not that anyone important took toads anymore – but then Potter said he was doing it _because it was right_, and Draco had been unable to do much more than stare at Potter's pale, earnest face as all his plans fell apart in front of his eyes.

Nott had smirked at him and made barbed comments for the rest of the journey, but Draco had tuned him out, re-evaluating. Was the charity and righteousness a mask? Was Potter playing nice to cement the image of the Boy Who Lived? It would be an acceptably Slytherin thing to do, but…

No, Draco had decided after much consideration. It had been genuine. Potter didn't have _masks_, he had _facets_ – he was complicated. He was infuriatingly _nice _and did things because they were _right_, but he was stubborn, and he was brave. He had held his ground when Draco had been derisive, and made his point in a low, confident voice that reminded Draco of his father giving commands. Maybe Potter wasn't as aware as Draco could have hoped, but he wasn't a complete loss – there was strength and leadership potential in his bearing that gave Draco hope. It wasn't an ideal situation, but he was a Slytherin: he would adapt.

Still, that glimpse of Potter's potential was like light flashing off a gemstone – brief and brilliant and blinding. Draco had to be sure of what he'd seen before he moved forward with his plans, so he had watched him. He had watched Potter interact with his Puffie Housemates (and wasn't _that_ a surprise?) and watched him in class, and what he had seen had been… disappointing. Potter had shown little of that steeliness, but then, he hadn't been pushed to show it either.

So Draco had pushed him.

And Potter had responded _brilliantly_. The minute Draco interfered with Bones, Potter had bristled and risen to anger like kneazle having its tail pulled. The anger was, of course, too obvious, but that could be remedied – what was important was the strength it revealed.

Of course, it had only occurred to him afterwards that his actions might make negotiating an alliance more difficult. Potter wasn't Slytherin enough to understand what he'd been doing – Potter talked of _friendship_, of all things! Friendship was… Well. Draco had learned his lesson about friendship years ago. Alliances were tricky, but entirely rational, logical affairs; so long as you could navigate the waters and keep your advantage, you could rely on your allies. Friendship was risky. It was emotional and friends were as changeable as the winds and twice as unreliable. A proper Slytherin did not have friends, he had allies.

Luckily, Potter had invited him to study together. He was certain Bones had something to do with it, though he had no idea why she would do such a thing. It certainly wasn't to her benefit to aid Draco in allying with Potter – unless she wanted to ally with him through Potter. It would make sense, but Bones talked in terms of _friendship_ too, so perhaps this was entirely non-political on her part.

It was hard to tell with Bones. She was as politically savvy as any Slytherin, but she rarely played the game, and when she did, she demured and hid behind sweet smiles until you forgot how sharp her teeth were. He had been surprised by her Sorting, though perhaps he shouldn't have been, all things considered.

Her closeness with Potter was worrisome, too. Draco intended to insinuate himself as Potter's closest ally, and Potter seemed enamoured with Bones, which was problematic. He would have to moderate the relationship and wean Potter off her… or, perhaps not. Potter would react badly to that, if his ultimatum in the library was anything to go by.

No matter. Draco was quite certain it would take care of itself, given enough time – and his friendship with Granger and Longbottom, no matter how distasteful, was not cause for concern.

_My first week at Hogwarts has been interesting_, he wrote eventually. _My position in Slytherin House remains unchallenged, and I am currently negotiating with Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, who I suspect will make strong allies in future. Tracey Davis seems willing to follow Greengrass' lead, and Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle are already on-side._

He re-read the short paragraph, allowing himself a soft snort of amusement at how simple it seemed when written like that. Holding court with the other Slytherin first years was about as easy as catching a snitch in a thunderstorm, and twice as likely to kill you.

Zabini was clearly his mother's son – he enjoyed drama and was intentionally difficult for no other reason than it amused him to trip everyone else up. He was not overly ambitious, but he was far too cunning to be Sorted anywhere but Slytherin. He would side with whoever offered more entertainment and a better chance of success. He was unlikely to challenge for leadership, content to play more minor political games.

Between Nott and Greengrass, it was actually Greengrass that Draco would have worried about, if she'd shown any inclination to seize power for herself. Greengrass was dangerously clever and insightful, but she had been groomed to marry, so her particular brand of politics was subtle and she preferred to serve than to rule. Draco pitied the man who married her, for he would either find himself with a politically brilliant ally, or an enemy who would destroy him from within his own house.

Nott, on the other hand, was ambitious and could easily become a real threat if Draco wasn't careful. Luckily, Nott liked to play it safe, so for the moment he was submitting to Draco's rule – keeping him in hand was all a matter of maintaining power. That could change in a moment, though, so Draco would have to be on his guard constantly, and Zabini wouldn't make it easy for him. Honestly, the idea of an open challenge from Nott made Draco nervous.

_I have also begun to court an alliance with Harry Potter. It is tentative at this stage, but we are already study… _

Draco hesitated to write _partners_, as it wasn't strictly true, but he didn't particularly want his father to know about Granger. Oh, his father would understand if Draco explained it properly: being civil to Granger was a term of Potter's agreement, and Potter's alliance was worth rubbing shoulders with undesirables. It wasn't as though his father had never shaken hands with half-bloods and muggleborns if it benefited him to do so, no matter how abhorrent it might be. Mannerless know-it-all though she was, arguing with Granger was amusing in its own way, and she was surprisingly resilient. If she had been a pureblood he might have even liked her.

Still… _study partners, and there is every indication of continued success in future._

That business concluded, he added more frivolous details of his experiences so far – the teachers, the classes he enjoyed and found difficult, the castle, the meals – that his mother would no doubt enjoy. His father would be pleased to hear that he found his school work challenging but not difficult, as was expected of him, although honestly, while he excelled at Potions and Charms, he found Transfiguration troublesome and History of Magic frustrating. His marks would not reflect anything less than excellence, though, so he decided there was no need to tell his parents this.

After reading the letter through again and making a few small amendments, he rewrote it carefully and stood up, muscles aching faintly with cold and a week of overuse. He replaced the cap on his ink bottle and stowed it in his bag with the textbook and quill, then shouldered the bag and walked to the owlery stairs.

The climb was brief, but smelly, as the multitude of owls that inhabited the ruined tower had left droppings and skeletons of small animals all over the floor. Draco curled his lip in distaste, stepping around as much of the muck as he could, and held out his wrist for his eagle owl, Thuban, to alight upon. Sure enough, moments later, he arrived in a magnificent rush of wings, brilliantly gold eyes gleaming in the moonlight and claws gripping a little painfully through Draco's sleeve. He winced.

Thuban extended his neck, beak clicking as he nibbled a wayward strand of Draco's hair. The owl hooted softly, looking almost disappointed until Draco sighed in exasperation and ran his knuckles down the owl's chest. Thuban closed his luminous eyes in contentment.

Draco smiled faintly. "I've a letter for you to take home, Thuban."

The overly affectionate owl continued to groom Draco's hair. Draco sighed again, giving his owl a stern look.

"Come on, Thu. No time for this silliness."

But he stroked the bird's sternum again, enjoying the quiet moment of companionship. It was nice, for once, to relax and let his guard down without fear that someone would take advantage of it. It was nice to be liked for simply being Draco, even if it was by an owl.

Apparently satisfied, Thuban shuffled, feathers puffed out, and extended his leg. Draco attached the letter deftly, rewarding his familiar with another stroke down the sternum. The owl returned the gesture with a gentle nip to his fingertips that made his chest ache.

With practiced ease, he launched the owl into the air and stood there watching the sky until long after the dark silhouette had vanished into the night. He felt strangely reluctant to leave the open air behind and return to the castle, where the walls would close in and he would have to draw his defences up again. The thought made him feel tired.

Unnerved by this, he set his shoulders and schooled his face, turning on his heel and striding quickly back into the castle. He stubbornly ignored the part of him that longed to shed the weight of self-control and spend the night watching the stars, unguarded.

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><p><strong>Well, geez, Draco. Don't go taking over the chapter or anything. This scene was originally supposed to be a tagged on short little bit to the next chapter, and then it just got longer than I anticipated because Draco is a mouthy, angsty little sod, so I decided to make it a little interlude instead. That, and I was having trouble making everything flow.<br>**

**Hope you all liked the Slytherin perspective, and aren't too disappointed in my Draco! He's trying, really. I also want to take a moment to explain why Draco is so much more level-headed here than in canon. In my opinon (and yours might be different), Draco is quite clever, but he lets his emotions get the better of him. This is one of his major flaws. He doesn't stop and think as much as he should, so he misses a lot of opportunities to strategise and plan like a Slytherin should - not entirely different to Harry that way. In _PS_, his second first meeting with Harry ended with Harry choosing Ron over him and offending Draco, and Draco was extremely embarrassed and angry and maybe a little hurt by this, so he reacted by lashing out and bullying Harry - "you hurt/embarrassed me, so I'll hurt/embarrass you". In _FWQ_, he and Harry had a much more civil first meeting, so Draco wasn't going into their... "relationship" in a highly emotional state - he stopped to think. And that made all the difference.**

**Also, I personally find it kind of hilarious that he and Harry have such similar thoughts about one another: _"Well, he's too nice/too mean, but I can fix that!"_ I wonder who will succeed?**

**Oh, and don't take Draco too seriously regarding Susan: he's a little biased ;)  
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**Sorry for the unoriginal naming of his owl, but I couldn't think of anything better. Thu is a cutie, though! Most people seem to give Draco an owl who is very like him (arrogant and haughty), but I thought it would be more fun to give him a pet who is affectionate and a little besotted with his master! Thu adores Draco, and Draco spoils him with owl treats.  
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**Does anyone have a favourite minor character yet? :) Who, and why?  
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**On another note, for everyone who was disappointed by the lack of slash in this fic, I have tentative plans for a Drarry fic at some point in the future. This is odd for me, as Drarry is not my preferred 'ship, or even my preferred _slash_ 'ship, but I rather like the idea I have! Who would be interested in reading that?**

**I apologise for the long Author's Notes! Oh, and general thanks to _everyone _who reviewed, even though I thanked most of you in person :)  
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><p><strong>REVIEW REPLIES<strong>

**_MitaRose_: Thank you! Glad you're happy with the development of the friendship. One of my pet peeves is people rushing into a Harry/Draco friendship just because of an alternate Sorting or one small change. Harry and Draco have VERY different personalities, and a friendship between them would start out pretty rocky. I think they could make great friends, but getting there is a hard road because they clash a lot. It'll be worth the work, though! **

**_Judas'Dahlia_: Hope you enjoyed this chapter, then! Pure Draco for you! Also, I'm glad you like my version of Harry. He's still a bit hot-headed, like his canon counterpart, but he'll grow out of it (mostly). "The general crapness" was probably something I saw as a result of how bloody painful it was to write that scene! Glad it didn't show in the writing :)**

**_Veronica: _Oh _wow_. Before I even get started on replying, let me just say that that review made my day. Thank you so much for such a long and detailed review!**

**Sally-Anne's invisibility/ghostliness does stem from her apparently being forgotten in the books, but that's not the extent of it. Keep an eye on her! **

**I hope you find Draco's perspective just as insightful and informative as Harry's, although admittedly it's a different kind of insight. I am curious as to what your opinion of Nott is, now! Don't tease like that! As for Harry being biased, well, we'll see. **

**I'm really glad you like Susan so far :) She is a rather insightful character, and tries very hard to be fair, so she tries to help Harry understand Draco a bit better and lets him come to his own decision about whether to befriend him or not - and because she's offering him other views without trying to influence him (that's not to say she doesn't inadvertently), he's going to be a lot more open-minded than his canon counterpart. And yes, it will be a good thing for the plot ;)  
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**As for Draco: I am definitely building him into a more developed character. He'll always be a bit arrogant, and a bit mean, because that's just part of who he is, but he'll be more than that too. I'm glad you're enjoying the character sketching/analysis I'm doing, because this fic has rather more of it than I originally anticipated! **

**Regarding JKR's inclusion of details: she was limited in a way that I'm not, and she was also writing for a younger target audience. _Philosopher's Stone_ was already longer than the publishers wanted, so a lot of little things either got cut or, well, just couldn't be included. Add that younger readers would probably lose interest with too much detail/introspection, and I think she did an amazing job with the constraints she had!**

**On a final note, the study group will be spending more time together next chapter! I do warn you that it'll be a rocky road getting them to a friendship as good as the Golden Trio's (or better, depending on your opinion of the Trio's friendship), but it'll be worth it in the end!  
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	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"Thank Merlin it's Saturday," Susan sighed happily, dark hair gleaming as she stepped out into the sunlight.

"I don't think I've ever done so much homework in my life," Harry muttered in agreement, following half a step behind.

"At least you've finished it all, though," Susan pointed out. "And now we've got the weekend to ourselves."

"Yeah, but I feel like my head's going to explode," he complained. "I woke up reciting the ingredients for that sunburn soothing salve this morning."

Susan looked at him, plainly amused. "We haven't even gotten that much homework yet. It'll be worse later in the year, you know."

"It's not just the homework, though," Harry said, gesturing vaguely. "It's just – _magic_. You've grown up with it, so none of this is weird to you, but I didn't even know magic _existed_ until a month ago! It's like… like learning a whole new language without knowing how to speak, you know? You're used to the little things, but I still barely believe this is all… real."

Susan frowned, a small crease forming between her brows as they drew together. She was quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed on her feet as she picked her way down the gentle slope. There was no real path to follow, not even one worn by the feet of generations, so the grass was ankle-high, thick and brilliant green. It rippled all down the hill until it met the Forbidden Forest, which curved like a dark, hungry mouth around the edge of the grounds, threatening to swallow Hagrid's little round hut where it nestled against the trees.

As the slope evened out and became flat, Susan looked up.

"Sorry," she said softly, meeting his eyes. "I didn't even think about that. I'm sure you'll get used to it, though."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "It's alright. I'm sure I'm not the only one whose head is spinning."

"Just think about how Hermione must feel," Susan said, voice light and teasing. "How she ever made Gryffindor, I'll never know. She reads more than the Ravenclaws."

Just like that, the discomfort was dispelled. Harry laughed, feeling light at the sound of Susan's answering laughter, and burst into a run. Susan let out a cry, her footsteps quickening behind him. He slowed, watching his friend pull ahead of him, almost skipping. Her smile was bright and her eyes gleamed as she turned towards him, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear as the wind plucked it free from her braid. Her white skirt rippled around her shins like a jellyfish, stark against the grass and the black leather of her shoes.

He had been surprised to see her emerge from her dorm that morning wearing a muggle skirt and blouse combination, rather than robes. He hadn't really thought about what magical folk might wear for casual occasions, but after a week immersed in a world so clearly magical it was strange to see someone wearing muggle clothes. He had stared at her for several moments, and Susan, noticing his attention, had smiled and twirled in a neat circle. Megan, who had been chattering happily with Hannah, shot Susan a look Harry couldn't interpret. Susan only rolled her eyes in return, before asking why he was wearing his school robes on a weekend.

He had lied and told her that he hadn't brought any casual clothes with him, though judging by her frown he had not fooled her in the least. When she opened her mouth to continue her line of questioning, now suspicious rather than innocently curious, he had hurriedly changed the topic to the breakfast selection – "_D'you think they'll have those grilled tomatoes again? I liked those._" – and their plans visit to Hagrid.

The previous morning, Harry had received his first letter at Hogwarts, which was one of only two significant things that happened to him on Friday; the other was waking up and, for the first time, not briefly thinking it had all been a mad, wonderful dream.

He had been nursing a fierce headache and watching Sally-Anne nibble on a second slice of toast with a sense of vague concern, when he'd heard the rushing sound of the approaching flock and turned his attention upwards. He hadn't been expecting anything, of course, but he loved watching the display anyway. The multicoloured whirl of feathers was beautiful, and the graceful way the birds swooped around one another, descending in elegant spirals to their owners or dropping letters and packages from up high, made the whole thing seem almost like a dance. It made him sad to think that he might, one day, stop being awestruck by this – that one day he'd be like Susan, who politely asked portraits for directions and casually held her arm out for a tawny owl to land on.

The owl had promptly been introduced as Mischief, who had lived up to his name by stealing a piece of bacon from Susan's plate as she detached the letter he bore. Harry had watched with amusement as Susan cooed over the bird and offered him water from her goblet, which he feigned disinterest in until Susan made to set it down.

Distracted by this, Harry had been caught completely unaware when Hedwig swooped in to land on his shoulder and nipped his ear, a letter in a heavy parchment envelope attached to her leg.

The letter turned out to be from Hagrid, inviting Harry (_and any of your friends_) to visit him on Saturday morning after breakfast. Harry had been nervous asking Susan to go with him, though he couldn't really put a reason to the feeling, but Susan had accepted with a warm, slightly surprised smile.

It was for this purpose that the two of them were trekking across the last stretch of open grass to Hagrid's hut,

"Oh," said Susan, eyes wide. "It's… bigger than I thought."

"Well, Hagrid's pretty big," Harry reasoned, but privately he was a little surprised too.

The round house looked dwarfed beside Hogwarts castle, with its soaring turrets and grey stone, but it could probably more accurately be called a bungalow than a hut. It had a thatched roof and stone walls studded with several small windows, each with a different colour curtain pulled across it and spider-webs glistening faintly in the sunlight. The front door was roughly hewn wood with two or three stone steps leading up to it, beside which a pyramid of logs was piled high and a chopping block stood with an axe caught in it. Towards the back of the building, a short chimney rose haphazardly skyward.

Harry and Susan exchanged uncertain glances before climbing the stairs – and it very nearly was a climb, because the steps had clearly been designed for someone much larger to use. Harry knocked on the door, smiling faintly as he realised he had automatically used the Hufflepuff pattern.

"Hello? Hagrid?" Harry called, when nothing happened for several moments. "Hagrid! It's Harry!"

"Do you suppose he's not home?"

"He said he'd be around all morning…" Harry replied, dubiously. "Maybe he's–"

Suddenly, Susan shrieked. She stumbled backwards, arms pinwheeling as her heel slipped off the step. Harry lunged, grabbing her arm tightly to steady her and pulling her towards him as her fingers closed vice-like around his shoulder. Her eyes were huge and terrified.

He snapped his head around, searching for the cause of her alarm, and very nearly yelped himself. Rushing towards them was a huge, dark animal, its paws thudding rapidly on the grass. Harry had only a few moments to desperately reach for his wand, wishing fervently that they had done something other than transfigure matches into needles, because he didn't think needles would be much use against this creature, before the monster was upon them.

Harry pressed Susan back against the door, one arm thrust out across her ribs and the other tangled in his robes as he fumbled for his wand. The beast turned out to be an enormous dog, which panted slobbered on them rather enthusiastically as they quaked in stunned terror.

"FANG! Fang, git back 'ere!"

Susan laughed slightly hysterically, one hand fisted in the back of Harry's robes and the other clenched around her own wand, which was half raised beneath Harry's arm.

"Sorry 'bout tha'," Hagrid called, appearing from around the curve of the cabin. "Don' worry, 'e won't do yeh no harm – _no_, Fang! Cm'ere, yeh silly thing."

The dog reluctantly obeyed, giving Susan's wrist one last lick for good measure, and trotted to his master's side. Behind him, Susan was tense and quivering – Harry felt much the same. Ever since he had met Aunt Marge's pack of truly _evil _bulldogs, Harry had been nervous about dogs in general, let alone one the size of a calf.

"Alrigh' there? Looks like Fang gave yeh a bit of a shock," Hagrid said, chuckling in amusement. "'e's just 'appy ter meet yeh. Think 'e's been a bit lonely since Charlie Weasley left… used ter play fetch with 'im."

"Yeah," Harry croaked. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. You alright, Susan?"

"Yes," she said, a little too high-pitched. "Hello, Fang. Nice to meet you."

She giggled, and Harry felt the hand against his back rise to clap over her mouth, muffling the sound.

Hagrid looked guilty. "Why don' you come in for a cuppa tea? Calm you down."

"Thanks," Harry said, Susan echoing him.

After some manoeuvring to get the door open, and a much calmer second introduction to Fang, the three of them arranged themselves inside Hagrid's cabin. Inside was an assortment of oversized furniture that made the house seem disproportionately small. This included a bed that levelled out at about Harry's shoulder height and chairs that left a good several inches between his feet and the ground. He had to strain to see over the table-top and eventually resorted to tucking his feet under his body to boost himself up as he stared in fascination at the eclectic decorations.

There were wild-flowers wilting in a vase on a window sill, an array of hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling, a careworn patchwork quilt thrown over the bed, several open cupboards in which a collection of chipped mugs and plates were displayed, and a crossbow leaning against one wall. It was sort of like stepping into a children's book.

Hagrid bustled about, setting two of the smaller cups – which were about the size of soup mugs – out in front of them, teabag strings dangling over the side. He also placed a bowl of sugar with a wooden serving spoon on the table, pushing aside a newspaper to do so, and set the kettle to boil, before turning to Harry with a beaming smile.

"'ow've you been, then?" he asked, sitting on the third chair. "An' who's this?"

Susan offered her hand, which Hagrid shook as carefully as he could manage. Harry had a brief moment of irrational fear at the sight of Susan's hand, which for the first time looked terribly small and delicate, enveloped in Hagrid's huge one.

"Susan Bones," she said, smiling. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Hagrid."

Hagrid chuckled, looking faintly embarrassed by her politeness. "Ah, jus' 'Agrid's fine, Miss Susan. Bones, yeh said? Yer not Amelia's girl?"

"No." Susan shook her head. "She's my aunt. Emily Wright was my mum…"

"Ah, Eddie's girl, then," Hagrid said, nodding. "Didn' know yer parents that well, 'm afraid."

Susan grinned, cheek dimpling. "I wouldn't have thought so. Mum and Dad were both Ravenclaws at heart – not much for the wilderness."

Harry listened to Susan talk of her parents with a small pang of envy. He had assumed, from the way she talked about her aunt and _didn't _talk about her parents, that she was like him – an orphan – but it seemed she had grown up knowing about her parents, even if she didn't know them. As a child he had longed to know more about his parents, collecting things in drips and drabs from his aunt and uncle and imagining the kind of people they might have been. He'd been told, more times than he could count, that his father had been a drunken delinquent and that his mother a freak, but he'd made things up in his head too – like that his dad had loved to cook, and his mum had sung along to radio songs while she did housework.

Once, when he was six, his aunt made him clean out the attic. He had found a jacket with a flower embroidered up the sleeve that he had pretended belonged to his mother and kept it in his cupboard. For a week, he slept curled around it like it was a favourite stuffed toy, until his aunt found it. She had shouted at him for stealing her things, and promptly thrown it away.

Harry jumped slightly as Hagrid poured the boiled water into his cup, having been quite lost in thought, and quietly asked for two sugars when questioned. He caught Susan giving him an unreadable look out of the corner of his eye, and flushed slightly.

"Enjoyin' yerself at Hogwarts?" Hagrid asked cheerfully, apparently not having noticed Harry's distraction. "'ow've yeh classes been?"

"Erm," Harry said. "Alright, I suppose. We haven't done much yet, really – mostly theory stuff that makes my head spin."

Hagrid grinned at him, beetle-eyes shining. "You an' me both. Always liked practical magic better than theory… too borin', 'specially history o' magic."

Susan huffed, and Harry hid his smile by blowing at the steam rising from his cup. Susan had been more disappointed than anyone by History of Magic, but twice as determined to pretend she wasn't.

"'ave yeh got a favourite class, yet?" Hagrid prodded, peering at Harry hopefully.

Harry thought for a moment. "Potions, probably."

"Yeah?" Hagrid asked, raising an eyebrow. "An' Pr'fessor Snape's alrigh' to yeh?"

"No worse than he is to anybody else," Harry replied, frowning faintly at the question. "It's not bad. The theory stuff is a bit confusing, but brewing's easier and we do more practical stuff than in any other class – except Herbology."

"Tha's good," Hagrid said, sounding slightly relieved. "Yeh mum was good a' potions. Prob'bly best of 'er year, 'cept for Snape."

"She was?" Harry asked, slightly breathlessly.

He was vaguely aware of Susan's eyes on him again, but all he could really feel was the thud of his pulse between his ears, in his mouth, and the physical ache at the mention of his parents. It yawned inside him like a chasm, deep and dark and empty.

"Yeah," Hagrid continued, oblivious. "An' charms, o' course. Wasn' much for duellin', but she was right clever with spells – an' Runes,'s a matter o' fact. Wanted ta be a spellmaker, if I remember righ'ly."

His hands were gripping his mug so tightly now, that a lesser cup would have shattered under the pressure. His knuckles were white around the handle, the porcelain pressed so hard against his palm that the bones ached.

"What about my dad?" he asked softly. "What did he like? What did he want to be?"

"I think yeh da's best class was Transfiguration," the giant man replied, after a moment of thought. "But 'e loved flyin'. He was on the Quidditch team fer Gryffindor fer five years. Played Chaser, I think. Loved playin' pranks, too. 'E an' 'is friends." Hagrid chucked again, eyes distant and fond. "They were always getting' into mischief, those four… prankin' the Slytherins an' getting' in ter all sorts o' places they shouldn'ta. Don't really know what he wanted to be after Hogwarts, 'm not sure 'e really knew 'imself."

"What… what House was my mum in?"

"She was a Gryffindor, like yer da' – Prefect an' Head Girl, as yeh know. Think Profess'r McGonagall was a mite disappointed yeh aren't one of 'er cubs, like yeh parents."

Hagrid trailed off awkwardly, taking a gulp of his own tea to cover the silence. Harry stared blankly at the table, unseeing eyes tracing the edge of the newspaper pages, and absently scratched Fang behind a large, floppy ear as the dog butted his head against Harry's thigh, whining. Susan, who had been quietly and unobtrusively sipping her tea for the past several minutes, spoke up.

"Harry told me you were the groundskeeper," she said, her voice so smooth and interest so genuine that Hagrid was completely diverted. "What does that mean, exactly? What do you do?"

Harry was half aware of Hagrid making an enthusiastic reply, and Susan making appropriately fascinated responses, but he wasn't listening to the words. Instead he focused on the high, butter-smooth sound of Susan's voice, already familiar to him, and to the deep, comforting rumble of Hagrid's voice, trying to let the cadence of the conversation soothe him. It worked, to an extent, but the emotion in his chest was fierce and he felt as though he might come apart at the seams from trying to hold it all in. He was angry and sad and joyous, and a million other things that were too indescribable to have names, but the emotion that raged the strongest was _longing_.

What Hagrid had told him was more than he'd ever known about his parents, but it wasn't _enough_. It wasn't nearlyenough. He wanted _more_. He wanted enough to piece them together in his head, to bring them alive and see his mother's smile and hear his father's laugh and the warmth of a guiding hand as he learned to fly, or stirred a potion. He wanted to know what his mother's favourite colour was, what his father's favourite dessert was, what books his mother had love, which Quidditch team his father had supported. He wanted the little things that made them people, that no-one could really tell him: the scent of his mother's perfume, how soft her hugs were, the colour of her eyes when she laughed, the way his father looked when he was annoyed, what he would say if Harry had a nightmare or grazed his knee or got a bad mark for a test…

"Oh, that sounds great, doesn't it, Harry!" Susan exclaimed.

Harry blinked, surprised and a little disoriented by his sudden re-entry to the conversation. He had no idea what they had been talking about, but a glance at Susan's face assured him that he wasn't agreeing to swimming with the Giant Squid or setting Professor Snape's robes on fire, so he cleared his throat.

"Er, yeah, sure," he said, slightly awkwardly.

"Great!" Hagrid beamed, apparently oblivious to Harry's bewilderment. "C'mon then, they're jus' out the back 'ere. 's about time I fed 'em, anyway. _No_, Fang, yeh better stay 'ere."

'They' turned out to be a litter of kneazle kittens which, according to Hagrid, had been either orphaned or abandoned around the end of August. They were still tiny, and Harry could hardly believe it when Hagrid informed them that the kittens were actually several weeks old already. They simply grew more slowly than their non-magical cousins.

"They're so sweet," Susan cooed, sounding so unlike herself that Harry had to stare. "We've got a Kneazle at home, but he's ancient."

He shook his head, bemused, and looked back at the kittens. There were five in total, with tufted ears and the same large, golden eyes. The fur of each was different from the next in both pattern and colour, ranging from spots to stripes and black to white, with solid colours and ginger fur mixed in. They were piled together in a wiggly pile of fur, blinking sleepily up at the humans intruding on their sleep, and even Harry had to smile at this. They _were_ sweet, and the sight of their soft pink mouths as they yawned made him smile, the pain in his chest easing.

"Hello," he said softly, offering his hands to the kittens for inspection.

The little white one fastened its mouth around one of his fingertip, sucking enthusiastically. It was soon joined by its siblings, who tumbled over one another in their eagerness to reach him. Susan laughed in delight and crouched beside him, one shoulder pressed warmly against his as she reached out to stroke their tiny bodies.

"What are they doing?" Harry asked curiously, as the kittens continued to lick and suck at his fingers, becoming increasingly insistent.

Hagrid chuckled. "They're lookin' fer milk. How'd yeh like to try feedin' 'em?"

* * *

><p>With half an hour left until lunch was due to begin, Harry and Susan said their goodbyes to Hagrid and Fang. Susan gave the big dog a tentative pat, still shaken from her earlier encounter. Harry gave him a scratch behind his ears, grinning as the dog panted happily. He wasn't sure he liked dogs on the whole, but Fang was, much like Hagrid, impossible to dislike. They had played a game of fetch, and Fang had happily returned the stick each time, though it was clear that only Hagrid could throw it far enough for Fang's liking.<p>

"It was nice ter see yeh, 'Arry – and ter meet yeh, Susan," Hagrid said, smiling at them through his beard as they stood at his doorstep. "Yeh'll have ta come see me again soon. Them Kneazles are mighty fond of yeh, an' it was nice fer Fang ter make new friends."

"We'll come back as soon as we can," Harry promised.

"Definitely," Susan agreed, smiling.

She hopped down the stairs, Harry following a step behind. He hesitated for a moment, and then dropped to one knee at the base of the stairs, leaning his face away from Fang's inquiring nose.

"Harry?"

"It's my shoelace," he lied, fiddling with the perfectly tied knot. "Go ahead, I'll catch up."

"Alright," Susan said, hesitantly. "If you're sure."

Harry nodded, eyes fixed on his hands. He watched her leave out of the corner of his eye, her green shirt blending with the grass around her, before standing once again and turning to the door where Hagrid still stood.

"Hagrid?" Harry asked, hesitantly.

He kept his eyes on the ground, feeling heat prickle up the back of his neck with nerves.

"Do you think… d'you think my parents would be proud of me?" He blurted, darting a look at Hagrid's face. "Being in Hufflepuff. Everyone… everyone says Hufflepuffs are just 'left-overs'. Would they be disappointed that I'm not in Gryffindor, like they were?"

Hagrid's expression softened, and he blinked hard several times. His eyes looked suspiciously wet, and Harry felt heat crawling up his neck in embarrassment at the sight.

"'Arry, yeh parents loved yeh more than life," Hagrid told him, voice thick with emotion. "I think they'd be proud of yeh even if yeh were a Slytherin. Don' yeh worry about tha'. Don' worry for a minute that they wouldn'a been proud."

"Thank you," Harry said, voice cracking. "_Thank you_."

Hagrid cleared his throat roughly. "Go on, away with yeh. Susan'll be waitin' for yeh."

Harry nodded and started off after her, wiping his face dry as he heard the door shut behind him.

* * *

><p>Harry was in a much better mood by the time they returned to the castle. There was still a faint ache in his chest, but hearing Hagrid say that his parents would have been proud of him, no matter what, had lifted his spirits. Susan had blithely ignored his red-rimmed eyes and made no mention of his earlier quietness, instead gushing happily about the kneazle kittens. Distracted by thoughts of the lunch awaiting them, neither of them noticed the danger until after it had noticed them.<p>

There was a sinister cackle, and something small and hard struck Harry in the chest. He stumbled slightly, bumping into Susan, who steadied him with one hand. He glanced at the object on the floor, rubbing the sore spot on his chest, and noted that it was a wooden-backed blackboard eraser. He looked up at the same moment Susan did, searching for their attacker.

"Peeves," they breathed in unison, exchanging horrified looks.

"Ah-ha! Ickle Puffie firsties, all alone!" Peeves crowed, eyes alight with evil glee. "Shouldn't have wandered out of your den, badgers!"

Peeves descended with a feral battle cry, throwing another blackboard eraser at them. This time, Harry dodged to the side, Susan leaping away in the other direction so that it clattered along the stone between them.

"Run!" Harry shouted, voice echoing off the walls.

He took off across the hall, listening for the sound of Susan's footsteps but unable to distinguish them from his own as they echoed and doubled. Like Peeves had said, they were alone. There was no-one else for him to target, and no way they could out-run him forever. Walls wouldn't stop him, so the only thing to do was…

"Let's split up!" Harry yelled behind him, swerving to leap up the marble staircase opposite the Great Hall. "He can't follow both of us!"

With that, Harry turned his attention to the stairs, praying he wouldn't trip up them and bruise his chin, like Neville had done the day before. Something went flying past his head, and he grimaced – evidently, Peeves had decided that Harry was the better target. Harry was glad Susan would be safe, but grimaced at the thought of the fate awaiting him.

He pounded down the corridor. Peeves was close behind, clearly enjoying making Harry flinch as he pelted the walls with the blackboard dusters. He was obviously stopping to retrieve the ones he dropped, because the clatter of wood on stone came too frequently for the number of dusters the poltergeist was carrying.

Harry flew past coats of armour and portraits which shouted encouragement, panting and aching from the few times Peeves had managed to hit him with the erasers. He had no idea where he was or where he was going, and he could only hope that he would find a teacher or that Peeves would lose interest. He knew that both were foolish hopes, given that the teachers were probably all at lunch by now and Peeves wouldn't give up so easily.

He took a corner hard, shoulder colliding with the wall and jostling a portrait. The occupant shouted in surprise, but Harry hardly heard him. He stared in horror at the dead-end facing him, and could do no more than turn to face his fate, frozen in horror. Peeves grinned, exposing pointy teeth in vicious glee, and began to pelt Harry with the dusters.

One bounced off his shoulder, another hitting him hard in the stomach. He gasped, the breath knocked out of him, and cried out as one struck him in the face. He raised his arms, covering his head, and felt a final duster collide with his forearm. Peeves blew a loud raspberry and, when nothing else happened, Harry peeked out from between his arms.

The poltergeist had vanished, leaving his weapons behind. Harry slumped in relief, wincing as he began to register his injuries more clearly. He was clearly going to have bruises later, if he didn't already, and his mouth and cheekbone were stinging fiercely. Tentatively, he touched his lip, sighing as his fingers came away bloody, and ran his tongue over the swollen flesh; a split lip, then, and a bruise on his cheek. He grimaced at the coppery taste of his own blood and glanced around, realising with a sinking heart he was completely lost.

He dug into his pockets, and to his relief came up with his timetable and wand.

"_Lead me_," he muttered, poking one of the squares with the tip of his wand.

The compass melted into life on the parchment, the needle whirling until it found its target.

"_Great Hall_," Harry said, tapping the compass again with his wand.

The needle whirled again, pointing off in a slightly different direction – but Harry paused. He couldn't really go to the Great Hall looking like he did. It wasn't that bad, really, but he had a feeling that his housemates would make a big deal about it. It would be healed up in a few days, so there was no real need to get it treated, but…

He sighed. "_Hospital Wing._"

For a third time, the compass reoriented itself, and he set off in the direction it indicated.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, he was much closer to the Hospital Wing than he would have thought. The Hospital Wing was apparently located on one of the lower floors of the castle and took up the entire eastern quarter of it. Inside, Harry noted as he peered through the partly open arched double doors, it was a long sunlit chamber in shades of grey and white. The narrow windows arched from floor to ceiling, stopping only when the ceiling began to curve, and between each one was a bed. The white bed-sheets and plain walls were swimming with the coloured light from the stained-glass panels high up, breaking the monotony and making the space seem a little more bearable.<p>

"Hello?" Harry called uncertainly, stepping through the doorway. "Erm, is there a doctor here…?"

"You just missed her."

Harry jumped at the sound, turning to look at the speaker, whose bed had been hidden from outside the door. Sally-Anne was propped up against a mound of pillows, her thin arms lying loosely across her lap. She looked as thin and worn out as her voice sounded, and terribly frail. Harry swallowed hard.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm in the Hospital Wing. What do you think?" Sally-Anne asked, a faint, teasing smile on her face to soften the words. "And it looks like I should ask you the same thing. That looks nasty. What did you do, Harry? Take a bludger to the face?"

"Is it really that bad?" Harry asked ruefully.

"Not really," Sally-Anne assured him. "But it does look like it hurts. Madam Pomfrey will fix it right up for you, though – don't worry, she won't be gone long."

She sat up straight, paling impossibly with the effort, and patted the bed beside her legs encouragingly. Harry sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, worried he would somehow break her if he wasn't careful. Immediately, the girl sank back into the pillows with a small sound of relief. Her eyes fluttered closed, her lashes such a pale blonde they barely showed against her milky skin. There was a smattering of freckles across her cheekbones, and her hair was even more ethereally blond than Draco's. The paleness of her against the white bed-sheets made Harry worry she might simply fade away.

"Are you… what's wrong with you?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

Sally-Anne's eyes opened; the grey-green of her irises was bright despite her obvious illness.

"I just get really tired sometimes," she said, after watching him for a long moment. "It's alright, really. I'm used to it."

"Alright," Harry said dubiously, watching her blink sleepily at him. "Do you like it here?"

"In the Hospital Wing?" she asked, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Well, I can't say I'd want to spend a lot of time here…"

Harry grinned at her. "_No_. I meant at Hogwarts."

Her answering smile was so bright and honestly happy it made Harry's breath catch, and it transformed her face. She was remarkably pretty, Harry realised, even with the too-sharp angles of her bones under her skin. She was almost fairy-like.

"Yes," she said, with conviction. "Yes. It's like a dream, being here. Getting my letter. I never thought…"

"That this kind of thing could be real?" Harry finished.

"Yeah," Sally-Anne said, smile fading to a softer version of itself. "Sometimes it still seems unreal."

"I know what you mean."

They sat that way, Harry plucking at the bed-sheet as they talked and laughed together. He could feel his cheeks heat inexplicably every time Sally-Anne laughed, and found himself elated every time he managed to coax the light, sweet sound out of her.

He was almost disappointed when Madam Pomfrey returned and healed his injuries, leaving him with no reason to linger at Sally-Anne's bedside.

* * *

><p><strong>First off, you guys a freaking amazing! As I posted last chapter, I was like, "Oh, it'd be cool to have one hundred reviews when I post chapter eight..." because at the time I had about 85.<strong>

**120. A HUNDRED AND TWENTY, GUYS. Wow. You are all awesome :) Thank you so much for giving me such a wonderful gift!  
><strong>

**Okay, so, about this chapter being (really, ridiculously) late: I'm sorry, but I came down with some kind of horrible virus that had me curled up in bed for about four days wanting to puke every time I so much as _smelled _water.**

**See, the thing is, when I get sick, my brain forgets that it has an off switch. I am thinking, constantly, and mostly about writing – but I don't want to be. I get no rest even when asleep, because it feels like I've just been thinking all night anyway. So I took a couple of extra days to un-fry my brain and think hard about a couple of things in FWQ. There's a (minor) plotline I'm tossing up over including, and it's making me reluctant to continue writing until I'm certain which direction I want to head. I also half-wrote this chapter and trashed it about three times, because I was unhappy with it... Ah well! Sorry for the writing angst, my lovelies :)**

**Chapters will probably be up once a week from now on, as opposed to twice. Sorry about that!  
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**Chapter related ramblings: Sorry that it's late _and_ not even very interesting, and probably riddled with errors. I posted before I could convince myself to trash it and start over. I am also sorry about Hagrid's accent, haha. I tried my best, but I've always struggled with writing Hagrid… Still, I felt Hagrid was the best character (at this point) to tell Harry a bit more about his parents, and I always felt that he _should_ have in canon. Alas, it was not to be… until I did it my way. **

**Regarding Harry asking about Lily&James' Hogwarts house… I can't actually find where he finds out they were Gryffindors, so if I have contradicted canon by having him unaware at this point, please let me know, and/or try not to let it bug you too much! **

**On an sorta-unrelated note: I have a tumblr now! Anyone who is interested is welcome to head on over and stalk/follow me for random bits of info about FWQ, and my future projects… I have many ideas and I am shamefully eager to share with anyone interested to know. I'd love to discuss pairings and characters, and sometimes I'll even offer a free oneshot request to the first to submit a prompt/pairing/etc! I need to kick my arse about writing, so I figure this is a good way to do so… yeah. I am** "veytta. tumblr .com"** over there, so go check it out! I'd prefer to do anonymous review replies over there, because I don't like my Author's Notes clogging up the word count like this, so, anons, please let me know if I can do that!  
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**Next chapter continues Harry's first Saturday, and you will see more of Draco and the others then, I promise! Please review! I don't mean to beg or blackmail, but I've been feeling kind of down about my writing lately, and your reviews would help me regain my confidence and post more quickly this time :)**

* * *

><p><strong>REVIEW REPLIES<strong>

**Judas'Dahlia: Phew! Glad you're enjoying Neville and Hermione's presence :) They haven't had a big role yet, but they're definitely going to be sticking around! Here's some more Sally-Anne to feed your speculations :)**

**_MitaRose_: Hehe, thank you :) I'm glad you like Thuban!**

**_Samoothie_: Thank you! You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear that you think my writing quality is up to par :) Ravenclaw, really? Huh. Ravenclaw is about the only House I can't see canon!Harry fitting into :P Haha, I hope I'll hear from you again :)**

**_Veronica_: All I have to say right now is WOW. Your reviews have been so long and detailed lately! Thank you so much! My reply isn't going to be quite as long this time, haha, because I feel bad about clogging up the word count – I'll just pick the important bits to address :) **

**Thank you _so much_ for your comments about Draco's characterisation. Draco is… a lot of fun to write, but I am constantly worrying if I am portraying him well. He's not quite true to my vision, so I'm a little put out about that, but I am so relieved to hear that he's a believable read anyway :) Oh? You've put your fears regarding Nott to rest? I see…**

**I am also incredibly glad to hear that you like Susan. Susan is a newcomer, so I worry a lot about whether readers are going to click with her, or feel that she's taking up too much of the story for a character that is essentially an OC, given that we don't see much of her in canon. **

**More Sally-Anne clues for you here :)**

**Oh, no. I wasn't taking your JKR-related comments as bashing! I've just had several people make comments like "Oh I wish JKR had done that" or "Your version of CharacterX is better than JKR's!" or something, which I find both flattering and a little mortifying, because they're _her _characters and I'm just playing with them. My comment there was for everyone to read, not just directed at you :) Sorry. **

**As for the Drarry: I'm not sure when it will be posted. I know I'll have a lot of fun writing it, but there are one or two other things that I am _dying_ to write, so they will take priority. It's my take on the Veela cliché – which, if you don't know me very well, means I'm going to twist it and poke a bit of fun at it and try and address it in a more original manner. I am not at all fond of Veela fics, so it came out of left field for me! If you have a tumblr, feel free to hit me up over there for more details! **


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